


Of Monsters and Men

by shions_heart



Series: omam verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (think Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Haikyuu!!), Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Demon Hunters, Eventual Happy Ending, Fae & Fairies, Fate & Destiny, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Reincarnation, Scattered Smut Throughout, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Witches, eventual queerplatonic akaken bokuken akakuroo & bokuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 220,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoba Johsai’s School for Demon Hunters and the Nekoma Institute of Magic both reside directly beside a Hell Mouth. It is prophesied that one day a half-breed demon will open it and wreck an apocalypse on all of Japan.  </p><p>That isn’t on Oikawa Tooru’s to-do list, but it’s not like he can tell anyone that. </p><p>Meanwhile, a demon with a human soul escapes hell and finds himself drawn to the reincarnation of his former love. Unfortunately, this reincarnation is a witch-in-training named Kozume Kenma, and he wants nothing to do with demons, lovestruck or otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. are you insane like me?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [De Monstruos y Hombres](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554986) by [AlternativeMaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlternativeMaid/pseuds/AlternativeMaid)



> I'm not abandoning iwfyitd, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so I ran with it.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it.

 

 

are you insane like me? been in pain like me?

\- halsey, _gasoline_

* * *

 

 

 _“You_ do  _realize that if you kill me, you’ll also be killing him, right?” The demon leers at Kenma from inside his cage. He’s trapped, no way to escape. The bars are lined with silver and carved with minute pentagrams. So Kenma doesn’t feel fear when he looks at the monster. He feels many things, but not fear. He clenches his hand tighter around the handle of his knife. He knows what he’s supposed to do. The spell has already been cast over the knife. All he needs to do is either slit the demon’s throat or stab him in the heart._

_But he continues to hesitate, the fingers of his free hand trembling until he curls them into his robes._

_“He’d want me to do this,” he tells the creature, his voice not wavering. He lifts his chin, stares directly into the demon’s red eyes. “You’ve killed people. Burned villages to the ground. He wouldn’t want his body used like that.” Kenma shakes his head._

_“Would you like me to use his body in other ways?” the demon asks with a smirk. His tail slithers out from between the bars, too thin and weak to do any damage. Its pointed end lies across Kenma’s cheek, caressing it gently. “I have access to his memories, you know. I’ve seen the way you two were together.” His tongue licks his lips languidly, too long and too red to be human. He grins then, a mouth full of pointed teeth. “What naughty humans.”_

_Kenma suppresses a shiver, his heart pounding achingly in his chest, as he brushes away the tail with a flick of his hand. “I’m here to kill you, that’s all.”_

_The demon laughs, and it sounds so familiar, Kenma’s gut clenches._

I can’t hesitate. It’s a monster. I have to destroy it.

_“So kill me, tiny human,” the demon says, smirking. “What are you waiting for? Or can you not do it? Would you like me to look away? Would that make it easier? Perhaps I should tell you what I’m going to do to you when I escape. What I’m going to do to your friends.”_

_“Stop talking!” Kenma snaps, his nerves frayed. His entire body is trembling now, and he wishes he were someone else. Anyone else. He glances toward the door, wondering if it’s possible to hope for assistance. But everyone is busy fighting the battle outside, the battle this_  thing  _started._

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You weren’t supposed to leave me like this.

_His eyes burn, but now is not the time for tears. He fights them back resolutely before stepping closer to the cage. The demon’s dark eyes watch him closely, that smirk still curling his lips. The horns that grew after the possession, along with the tail, fangs, and claws, scrape against the top of the cage, as he sits up and leans forward, putting his face close to the bars, though he can’t touch them._

_“Kenta,” he says softly, gently. It’s not his name, but Kenma reacts as though it is, his chest tightening. Carefully, the demon extends his hand through the cage, the tips of his sharp nails brushing against Kenma’s jaw. “Open this cage. Set me free.” His voice has changed. It sounds normal, more human. There’s no mocking edge, and for a moment the red eyes flicker to deep gold._

_Briefly, Kenma allows himself to lean into that reaching hand. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the touch being safe and warm the way he remembers it being. A tear escapes, and a thumb tenderly wipes it away._

_“Kenta, please,” the quiet voice continues. “We can be together again. If you set me free, I’ll make you my king. We can rule the world side by side.”_

_Kenma’s eyes open, his expression hardening. “Kuro never wanted any of that,” he says flatly, before shoving his arm through the bars beneath the extended arm, plunging the knife deep into the demon’s chest._

_A wretched scream bursts from the monster’s mouth, and he reels back, rattling the cage. As his skin comes in contact with the bars, it sizzles and burns and the screaming continues. Kenma stumbles back, crouching low on the floor with his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut, as the demon writhes in its death throes._

_After what feels like an eternity, the horrible screeching stops, and the air grows still, silent aside from Kenma’s sobbing breaths. He lifts his head slowly. The body inside the cage is still, but he can tell immediately that the tail and horns are gone. Rushing forward, Kenma nearly trips over his feet as he hurls himself onto the cage, unlocking the bolts with shaking fingers._

_Crawling inside, he places his hands on either side of the man’s face, searching for any sign of life. Kenma doesn’t recognize him, but he feels despair trickling into his heart, and he knows he doesn’t want this man to die. His pulse beats weakly in the vein of his neck, but he doesn’t move. Kenma is about to despair when the man’s eyes flutter open, and they’re a deep, molten gold. Kenma feels a tremor as they meet his gaze._

_“Tetsu,” Kenma chokes out past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_The man, Tetsu, stares up at him, and Kenma can feel how thin his lifeline is, how it shivers close to breaking. He wraps his arms around Tetsu’s shoulders, pulling him into his lap, cradling him close, as his tears fall onto his face. Tetsu blinks, and then a tiny smile lifts the corner of his lips._

_“You saved me,” he says, and then he coughs, blood bubbling up and spilling over the edge of his mouth. “Y-you saved everyone. D-don’t apologize for that.”_

_Kenma takes his hand, pressing it against his cheek. It’s still warm, but he knows that won’t last. His chest aches, and he wants to go back. He wants to go back to the time before all this happened, before the demon broke through that barrier and ruined their lives._

_“Kenta,” Tetsu murmurs, his eyes starting to close. “Kenta.”_

No, no, no. Don’t go. Please, don’t go. Stay with me. Stay with me, please. Tetsu . . .

_Tetsu’s chest shudders and then lies still, and Kenma rocks back and forth in his agony, silent tears streaming down his cheeks._

 

***

 

Kenma wakes with the smell of smoke burning in his nose. He blinks up at the ceiling, aware that there’s no fire nearby. He’s always careful to extinguish his candles after completing his homework. Although he knows that he did, he sits up, glancing toward his desk to make sure. The room is dark. Moonlight filters in through his window, as well as light from the second-floor bedroom of the house beside his.

 _Mori must still be studying_.

The candles are unlit.

A chill runs through him. Kenma’s had nightmares before, but never has he experienced one so . . . vivid. He glances at his hands, half-expecting to see blood. The bandaid on his right index finger is peeling off, but other than that his hands are same as they were when he went to bed. Slowly, he brings them to his face.

There are tears on his cheeks.

Lying back, he stares up at the ceiling once more. Kuro. Tetsu. Kenta. These names hold no meaning to him. He doesn’t recognize them, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard them before. But they feel important. It feels like he _should_ know.

It’s irritating.

Turning over onto his side, Kenma reaches across to his bedside table to retrieve his phone. Clicking it on, he squints against the bright light, quickly dimming it. The photo that stares back at him from his lock-screen shows Mori and Lev on either side of him. They’re grinning, holding up peace signs, while he sits in the middle. If one looks close you might be able to catch the tiny smile tilting Kenma’s lips, but it’s difficult to tell. He doesn’t like pictures of himself, but Lev and Mori look happy so he kept it.

>> _are you studying? (02:45)_

 **Mori**  
_yeah but I can take a break. What’s up? (02:45)_

_> >have you ever had a dream that was real? (02:45)_

**Mori**  
_you mean it felt real? (02:46)_

_> >no . . . that /was/ real. One that was true. (02:46)_

**Mori**  
_no. but my diviniation skills aren’t that strong (02:46)  
do you think you had a dream of the future? (02:46)_

_> >I think it was the past. (02:47)_

Kenma drops his phone onto his chest, closing his eyes to try and recreate the dream in his mind. It’s grown hazy now, lingering on the edge of his consciousness. The harder he tries to grasp at it, the faster it begins to slip away. He frowns, still unable to shake the persistent feeling that what he dreamt about was _important_.

 **Mori**  
_go back to sleep, Kenma. We can talk about this more at school. (02:49)_

Kenma sets his phone back on the table, making sure to plug it in as well. When he closes his eyes again, glowing gold eyes hover in the peripheral of his dreams.

 

 

Lev is, as per usual, much too loud in the morning. “Kozume-san! Yaku-san! Hello!”

Kenma flinches, frowning faintly as he keeps behind Mori, the three of them falling into step on their walk toward Nekoma.

“You’re too loud, Haiba-kun,” Mori says patiently. “Kozume-kun is tired. He didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Oh? Were you up playing your new game?” Lev asks with interest, lowering his voice as directed. He careens his neck, tipping his upper half down to try and peer into Kenma’s face past his hair.

Despite knowing his friend means well, Kenma leans away from his close gaze, focusing his own on the grass beside them. He shakes his head in response to his question, remembering the tears and the aching feeling of loss.

“I had a nightmare,” he says softly, turning to look at his friends once more. “I think it was real.”

Lev and Mori exchange a glance, and Kenma hunches his shoulders, wrapping his arms around himself. He knows he sounds crazy. Even in their line of study prophetic dreams are few and far between. And he’s fairly certain that it wasn’t even prophetic. It felt like a memory, though he knows he never experienced that moment. And he’s never met that man.

Kuro.

Tetsu.

“What do you remember of it?” Mori asks.

Kenma shivers, glancing around. They’re alone on the sidewalk, aside from a passing car every so often. Yet he feels the prickling sensation on the back of his neck that tells him they’re being watched, observed.

It’s not a pleasant feeling.

“Not here,” he says, shaking his head quickly. “The library at school.”

 

The Nekoma Institute of Magic sits two blocks down from its sister school, the Aoba Johsai Demon Hunting School. The purpose of Nekoma is to provide the knowledge for spells, potions, and healing to students from ages eight to twenty to in turn be used to assist the hunters that train and graduate from Aoba Johsai. The witches that graduate from Nekoma often go on to own their own magic shops or become teachers themselves. Every so often a witch dabbles in black magic, the dark arts that are strictly forbidden by the Witches’ Council because of its ties to the demon realm.

Kenma isn’t sure what becomes of those witches, only that they are punished severely. As for himself, he doesn’t see the appeal of fraternizing with demons to gain more power. From what he’s learned, they often trick and deceive young witches into convoluted contracts that become punishments in of themselves if bent even the slightest.

The only reason Kenma is studying the art of magic is because it’s what’s expected of him. His grandmother owns a magic shop and urged him to attend Nekoma so he may take over the shop when he’s grown. He figures he can easily go to school to design video games on the side, and it would be a good source of income while he earns his degree.

He tends not to talk about his lack of ambition while with Mori and Lev, however. The two of them enjoy practicing magic and hope to become great sorcerers one day, to teach or maybe to sit on the Council themselves. Kenma doesn’t see the point. A fancy seat and title doesn’t seem worth the effort. But he tries not to say this out loud, not wanting to be discouraging.

“We have to be quick,” Mori says as they enter the library. It’s quite an extensive one, taking up more than half the east wing of the school. Kenma knows it well, has escaped here more than once when the press of bodies and clamor of voices become too much for him.

“Classes are about to start,” Mori continues, slinging his book-bag off his shoulder and hopping up on the librarian’s counter. The woman is nowhere in sight, so Kenma doesn’t admonish him.

Lev stares at Mori’s dangling feet with a small grin. “You look so tiny and cute perched up there, Yaku-san,” he says.

Mori frowns, swinging his foot out to connect it against Lev’s hip. Lev hops back a step, grimacing as he rubs the spot. Kenma thinks he deserves it but doesn’t say so.

“Has either of you two heard of the name Kuro? Or Tetsu?” At their blank stares, Kenma hesitates, curling his fingers around the cuffs of his school uniform jacket. “Kenta?”

Mori tilts his head. “Wait, I think I’ve heard that name before. Kenta . . . yeah, I think,” he pauses to hop off the counter and retrieve his book-bag, “I think we talked about a sorcerer named Kenta in our History of Magic class.” He pulls out a thick textbook, plopping it on the counter.

Lev and Kenma press in close, as Mori begins to flip through the pages. He runs his finger along the kanji and kana, lips moving slowly as he ghosts over words in search of the right one. Kenma notices the way Lev’s eyes focus on Mori’s mouth, and he suppresses a sigh.

“Ah! Here it is,” Mori says suddenly, startling them both. He looks up, oblivious, turning his gaze to Kenma. “This passage here talks about a powerful sorcerer in the fifteenth century. Apparently a lot of wars occurred during that time with a lot of demon activity. Kenta was one of the warriors fighting to regain peace, and it says he slew the demon responsible for the main upheaval. But it says after that he retired and was never heard from again.”

“Wow, Yaku-san. That’s not a lot of information. I’m impressed you remembered it!” Lev says wondrously.

Mori narrows his eyes, as if trying to figure out if he should feel insulted or not.

Kenma doesn’t feel reassured by this new information. Kenta isn’t that uncommon a name, is it? And even if it _were_ the same Kenta from his dream, why would he dream such a scene? Crossing his arms over his chest, Kenma hugs himself tightly, grasping at the material of his jacket with both hands. A shiver runs down his spine, as he remembers the man lying in his arms, gasping for breath as blood spilled from his mouth and chest.

“Does it say anything about a Kuro? Or a Tetsu?” he asks softly.

Mori tears his gaze from Lev, glancing back down at the book before shaking his head slowly. “No. Sorry, Kozume-kun.”

He seems genuinely apologetic, so Kenma buries his frustration in a brisk nod. Overhead the school bell rings. Mori quickly pulls the book off the counter and stuffs it into his bag.

“I can try to find out more,” he offers, looking up at Kenma, as he pulls the strap of his bag over his head to rest upon his shoulder. “You said you dreamed of this guy?”

Kenma nods again, nails digging into cotton.

“Don’t worry, Kozume-san! We’ll figure it out!” Lev exclaims, swatting the air above Kenma’s shoulder, pantomiming a pat.

“Shhh!” The librarian suddenly turns around the corner of a bookshelf, glaring daggers.

The three of them scurry out of the library and part ways, each heading to their separate classrooms. Kenma tries not to think too much about what his dream might mean, and he does his best to keep the memory of those golden eyes out of his mind.

 

***

 

When Tooru was little he told Iwaizumi he was an alien. With his tiny horns half-hidden beneath his curls and small, sharp fangs, he certainly appeared alien. Iwaizumi remembers Tooru’s mother mentioning that he’s lucky he wasn’t born with a tail as well. Personally, he thought a tail would be cool, though he knows now how much it would’ve bothered Tooru.

Tooru was homeschooled until he was eight and could control the glamor that allows others to see him as a normal human. Iwaizumi only discovered Tooru’s true identity because he stumbled across him playing in his backyard. Iwaizumi crawled through a hole in the fence chasing after a stag beetle. Instead he found six year old Tooru sitting in the dirt holding a roll of milk bread in each small fist.

Iwaizumi noticed the tiny horns right away, though he didn’t see the fangs until his mouth dropped open in surprise. Iwaizumi remembers that he wasn’t scared, only curious. Tooru tilted his head to the side slowly, regarding Iwaizumi with wide brown eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Iwaizumi.” Even at a young age, Iwaizumi knew to be cautious with his given name. Magic users and demons can use given names against you if you’re not careful. He wasn’t sure what Tooru was, but he felt the need for restraint just the same.

“Is that you _real_ name?” Tooru asked, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s my family name.” Iwaizumi poked at the ground with his stick, sitting back on his heels.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” Tooru said, apparently not worried at all about Iwaizumi using his given name for ill.

Iwaizumi frowned. “You’re not supposed to tell me your name.”

“Why not?” Tooru asked, scooting closer on his knees. His hands still held the milk bread rolls, though he seemed to have forgotten them.

“Because names are important. Demons can use them to do bad things to you.”

Tooru scoffed. “Demons can’t do anything bad to me.”

He sounded so confident, Iwaizumi almost believed him. But it didn’t make sense to his small six-year-old brain that this child could know better than his own parents, so he challenged this information.

“That’s stupid. Nobody is safe from demons.”

“I am! I’m an alien. See?” Tooru gestured to his horns and then bared his fangs. “I’m not like you. I’m better!”

“Maybe stupider,” Iwaizumi said sulkily, not sure he liked this kid. “Aliens aren’t real.”

“That’s mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru complained, pouting. “I don’t want to share my milk bread with you anymore.”

“I didn’t ask for your stupid milk bread.” Iwaizumi said, turning away to crawl toward where that stag beetle went, poking at the ground with his stick to search for it in the grass.

He could sense Tooru watching him, and after a few minutes, the other boy came crawling over beside him.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, munching on his milk bread.

“Stag beetle.” Iwaizumi said, not looking up.

“Bugs are gross.”

“You’re gross.”

“No, I’m not, I’m beautiful. My mom told me.”

Iwaizumi didn’t have a comeback for that. Anything he thought of was insulting to Tooru’s mother, and he didn’t even know the woman. He glanced sidelong at Tooru though, curious about something.

“Does she have horns and fangs too?”

Tooru shook his head. “She says I got these from my dad, but she won’t tell me who he is.” He seemed sad as he said this, and Iwaizumi felt bad for him.

“I think they’re cool,” he offered after a moment.

Tooru immediately brightened. “Thanks!” he said happily. Pausing, he glanced down at the milk bread in his hand before slowly holding it out to Iwaizumi. “You can have this.”

Iwaizumi took the bread with a shy “thank you,” and ever since then the two were practically inseparable. Iwaizumi was there when Tooru’s magical abilities manifested, but he wasn’t afraid of the way his friend could conjure things out of thin air. And when he had nightmares and woke to a trashed room, Iwaizumi never minded coming over to console Tooru. He’d climb through the window and hold his friend as he cried and spoke in mumbles about a dark, scary man coming to take him away. Iwaizumi wasn’t going to let that happen, he said. He promised.

Tooru always believed his promises. He generally believed Iwaizumi’s stories, growing annoyed whenever it turned out that Iwaizumi was teasing him. Generally Iwaizumi could get him to do anything, though Tooru often taunted him asking if he was his mom.

The only time he didn’t listen to Iwaizumi was when he told Tooru not to join him at Aoba Johsai.

“It’s a school for demon hunters, and you’re half-demon. Don’t you see how that could be a problem?” Iwaizumi asked with a growl the night he found out Tooru’s plans to follow him to Aoba Johsai straight out of middle school.

“Iwa-chan, it’s exactly _because_ I’m half-demon that I need to become a hunter. People will fear me if I don’t prove I’m on the right side. The _good_ side.” Tooru lay on his stomach on Iwaizumi’s bed, arms folded beneath his chin, as he looked across at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi sat at his desk, frowning over at his best friend. “It’s too risky. What happens if your glamor slips, and people see your horns and fangs? They’ll freak out and try to kill you.”

Tooru grinned. “You don’t think I can defend myself against attackers, Iwa-chan? With my magical skill set?”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms. “I don’t want you to have to.”

“Awww, don’t be so worried all the time, Iwa-chan. You’re going to get frown lines.”

Iwaizumi flung his pencil at Tooru, who only laughed at him. In the end, Iwaizumi couldn’t convince Tooru to choose a normal high school. He wanted to prove himself worthy of people’s love and respect, not fear and hatred, and even though Iwaizumi was sure he could earn those things without putting himself in danger, Tooru wouldn’t hear any of his rational suggestions.

And so they both started at Aoba Johsai when they were fourteen.

 

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi can feel the back of his neck itching even before Tooru drapes himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders and breathes heavily against his skin.

“Get off me, Shittykawa; I’m trying to study,” Iwaizumi says irritably, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to shake off his friend.

Tooru laughs, light and happy, and extracts himself, moving to plop down in the seat beside him. He plants his elbows on the table, with his chin in his hands, grinning at Iwaizumi until the latter huffs and turns toward him with a frown.

“ _What_?”

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Tooru says, almost giddy.

“So?” Iwaizumi smooths down a page of his textbook, as it threatens to turn on its own. He only was just able to afford the new book, and he’s already dreading the moment when Tooru begs to borrow it and will end up drawing alien heads in the margins.

“ _So_ we should go out to the clearing. I swear we have a werewolf problem here in Sendai, and I plan on proving it. Mattsun and Makki are already on board.” Tooru’s eyes are gleaming with excitement, as if he didn’t just propose the dumbest idea of the year.

“Of course they are. They’re idiots,” Iwaizumi sighs. “How many times have the coaches told us we’re not allowed to go on patrols unsupervised?”

“We’re turning twenty next year,” Tooru says, lowering his hands and leaning over them. “Won’t it be impressive if we can put werewolf slaying on our resumes? People would for sure hire us for all kinds of jobs with such a difficult task under our belts.”

“I’m supposed to tutor Kindaichi tonight,” Iwaizumi says, turning back to his textbook. He has to admit to himself, though, that the prospect of fighting and defeating a _werewolf_ is appealing. He hasn’t seen much action these past few months, despite being the strongest in his class, according to his coaches. He’s not sure why he’s been looked over so often for assignments recently. He knows the same has happened to Tooru as well. He’s somewhat nervous that people have started to suspect Tooru, but he eases this fear with the fact that nobody has said anything or attempted to capture Tooru.

“Blech, Iwa-chan is so dull. Tutoring.” Tooru rolls his eyes. Picking up a pencil, he jabs Iwaizumi’s arm with it. “Come on. It’ll be fun! Besides, they haven’t given us _any_ assignments lately, and we don’t want to get rusty, do we?”

He has a point. Iwaizumi glances sidelong at Tooru, taking in the wide grin and the sparkle in his large brown eyes. Iwaizumi can’t help but smile faintly in return.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he agrees.

“Hooray!” Tooru exclaims, hopping to his feet. “I’ll get the supplies we need. Let Kindaichi-kun down gently, will you? And meet me at the fort at midnight.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi says, supposing this’ll be another night with little sleep. He wonders sometimes if all this rushing after Tooru will end up sending him to an early grave.

Tooru’s hand rests on his shoulder, lingering a moment. Iwaizumi glances at it before looking up into Tooru’s face. He’s still smiling, but it’s faded to something different, something that makes Iwaizumi’s stomach flip uneasily.

“We’re going to be amazing hunters, Iwa-chan,” he says seriously. “And one day I won’t have to hide, and we’ll become the best hunters this world has ever seen. Together. The demon realm will _quiver_ at the sound of our names.”

Iwaizumi isn’t sure why that makes his gut clench, but he simply nods, knowing better than to argue with Tooru when he gets that red glint in his eyes.

“Right, of course.”

Just as quickly as the intensity appeared, it’s gone, and Tooru winks, pulling back his hand. “Don’t get lost on your way to the meeting place~”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. “You’re the one who’s always—” He stops, registering the lack of presence behind him.

When he glances over his shoulder, Tooru is gone.

 

***

 

Practically everything about him is the same: the deep gold of his eyes, the sweet smell of vanilla, the paleness of his skin from too many days indoors. The only thing that’s different is his hair. It’s dyed blond, though his dark roots have already grown in at the top of his head.

_It’s him. It’s Kenta. It has to be._

_[it’s not him. how could it be him? he has not the stench of demon on him.]_

_There are other ways to becoming immortal. He must’ve known I lived. He must’ve made himself immortal to wait for me. He knew I’d escape._

The whisper doesn’t reply. Kuroo, confident in his revelation, approaches the boy standing on the street corner. He’s wearing a school uniform, book-bag slung over one shoulder, and in his hands is a handheld gaming device. Kuroo can’t recall the name of it.

_[if you’re so confident that it’s him, why do you retain this form?]_

Kuroo swishes his tail in irritation. _I don’t want to startle him._

He’s wearing his favorite form, that of a black cat. It’s a lithe form, quick on its feet with an incredible sense of smell, hearing, and eyesight. It’s easy to move in and out of tight spaces as well, which comes in handy when he wishes to observe without being spotted.

He’s not sure he wants to be seen now, but he creeps out of the hole in the wall anyway, slowly making his way toward the boy.

He looks young, younger than Kenta, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. That gives Kuroo pause, but only for a moment. His tail swishes again, anxious. The boy hasn’t looked up from his game, but as Kuroo gets closer, he can tell that the boy has sensed something. He’s grown still, thumbs no longer moving over the buttons of his device.

Kuroo pauses, cautiously taking a seat on the sidewalk. For a moment neither of them move. Kuroo focuses all his attention on the boy, boring a hole in the side of his head with his gaze. He expands his aura, reaching toward the boy, brushing against his presence with a delicate touch.

_Kenta._

The boy flinches, shoulders rising to his ears. Kuroo frowns. The boy’s aura is weak, not at all close to the strong, golden power of Kenta’s. When Kuroo switches to his demon eyes, he can see it, shimmering faintly around the boy in a pale cocoon, extending only a few centimeters from his skin.

_It’s too pale. Has his use of magic weakened him?_

_[or perhaps it’s simply not kenta.]_

_Shut up._

A bus comes rolling up to the corner. The boy slips his game into the pocket of his uniform jacket and boards. Kuroo quickly hurries after him, but when he gets to the doors they close in his face. Frowning, Kuroo begins to run, as the bus pulls away from the curb and heads down the street.

_[you’re going to a lot of trouble for this boy who might not be kenta.]_

_I have to know for sure._

The whisper falls silent, mercifully, and Kuroo concentrates on not losing the bus.

It’s a harrowing twenty-minute journey of avoiding pedestrians and cyclists and other cars, but finally the bus comes to a stop and the boy exits, heading for a small magic store tucked between a bakery and an art supply store. The sign above the door reads “The Black Cat,” and Kuroo smirks inwardly. How appropriate.

The boy steps inside, but when Kuroo tries to follow he finds himself stumbling back. Frowning, he tries again, but it’s as though an invisible barrier stands between him and the door. He bats at it with his paw, but it’s solid. Switching to his demon vision, he can see the magic, pulsating a bright gold, covering the entire front of the store like a giant sheet. He can see the faint swirls of kanji and kana spelling out the incantation embedded in the sheet, and he recognizes the words with a hiss.

_Damn. It’s protected._

_[those are formidable wards against demons. a powerful witch must own this place.]_

Disgruntled, Kuroo begins to pace the outside of the shop, waiting, hoping for the boy to come out. After about an hour, he finds a warm spot to sit against a lamppost, dozing lightly. He’s careful not to fall completely asleep, however, knowing he’ll revert back to his human form if he does. He’s pretty sure nobody would appreciate a naked man suddenly appearing in the middle of the sidewalk.

His ears twitch at the sound of a bell ringing. Opening his eyes, he sees a small, elderly woman in the doorway. She peers out, her dark eyes finding his almost immediately. When he reaches out to touch her aura, he finds it impenetrable, glowing outward from her tiny frame with such strength he feels small in comparison.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want from my grandson,” she says, pointing her finger at him. “But if you’re not gone within the next two minutes, I’ll put a hex on you so strong your little friends in hell will feel its effects!”

Kuroo completely believes her, so he quickly hurries away. He stops around the corner, however, taking a moment to go over the information he’s gathered.

_[it’s probably not kenta.]_

_He could be posing as that woman’s grandson. They don’t look very much alike._

He can sense the whisper’s skepticism without words. Slowly, he peers around the corner toward The Black Cat. It’s small and unassuming. One could easily walk by it without even knowing it was there. But he commits it to memory, because he needs to find out more about this boy who wears Kenta’s face, who smells like home.

After six hundred years alone, with only the whisper in his head, he’s determined to regain what he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll see how this goes . . .
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	2. run from wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly wasn't expecting to update so fast. But the response to this was so amazing? You all are so amazing? that I was really excited to continue it, and honestly I haven't been able to sleep well lately, so instead of suffering in bed I stayed up and pounded out another chapter for ya'll. XD
> 
> Also, I ran a poll on twitter about whether or not this fic should have bokuakakuroken ot4. Out of 30 voters, 67% voted yes, and I received a few messages over tumblr requesting the OT4 be included. So it will be, though I'm not completely sure in what way. As very close best friends? Absolutely. Romantically? I'm still debating. I really depends on the path this story takes, honestly. But I'm open to it happening. :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this chapter!

 

 

bran thought about it. "can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

\-- george r. r. martin, _game of thrones_

* * *

 

 

Iwaizumi steps out into a night illuminated by the bright full moon above. The sky is cloudless, and the smattering of stars extends as far as the eye can see. He finds himself looking up at it for a moment, wondering if things would be different if Tooru had turned out to be an alien instead of a half-demon. Would he be as worried about his friend as he is now?

He lowers his head, knowing that’s a ridiculous question. Iwaizumi will always worry about Tooru. The guy’s a walking disaster. Shaking his head, Iwaizumi shifts his pack of snacks and weapons on his back before jogging down the sidewalk toward the expansive forest off the main road. There’s clearing in the forest that houses a tree fort that Iwaizumi and Tooru found when they were younger. Neither of them knows where it came from, but Tooru said that it was special, and Iwaizumi decided to go along with it.

It’s just a normal tree-fort: sitting in the branches about six feet off the ground, with a wooden ladder leading up into the center of the small room. They barely fit in there these days. There’s only enough room really to sit side by side with their feet stretched out in front of them, but it’s a nice place to hang out and nap or read comics or study.

Beneath the fort is a tree stump, and on the tree stump now sits Matsukawa with Hanamaki straddling his lap. They’re playing tonsil hockey pretty aggressively, and Iwaizumi resists the urge to throw something at them.

“Oi!” he snaps instead. “This isn’t the reason Oikawa asked us here.”

Hanamaki slowly pulls away from his boyfriend, regarding Iwaizumi with a faint smirk. “It could be.”

“Orgies are fun,” Matsukawa says with a nod.

Iwaizumi’s neck burns. “I do _not_ want to know how you know that,” he says flatly.

“Yahoo~” Tooru’s voice rings out into the clearing, much to Iwaizumi’s relief.

He turns to watch his friend enter the clearing with a swagger. Tooru waves to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, as he steps up to stand beside Iwaizumi. He’s wearing all black (which he texted them all about to make sure they’d be properly camouflaged) and he looks like a model, the paleness of his skin brightened by the moonlight on his features. Iwaizumi clears his throat and looks away, adjusting the strap of his pack over his shoulder.

“I hope you two weren’t having _too_ much fun without me,” Tooru says with a grin.

“You’re welcome to join,” Matsukawa says, lifting his hand from Hanamaki’s hip to hold it out to Tooru.

“Eh, I’d rather Iwaizumi join,” Hanamaki says, regarding Tooru skeptically.

“Rude! You two would be _blessed_ to have me in your relationship,” Tooru says, hands on his hips.

Iwaizumi ignores them, wishing his ears would stop burning. He studies Tooru instead, mainly his hair. It’s perfectly styled as per usual, but he often finds himself glancing toward it while with Mattsun and Makki, always concerned that Tooru will grow too comfortable around them and drop his glamor to reveal his horns and fangs. He doesn’t want to know what might happen if he ever does.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki might seem like fun-loving idiots, but they’re dedicated to their course of study and are skilled hunters already. Would they feel obligated to kill or capture Tooru if they knew about his true origin? They’ve only known him and Iwaizumi for a few years. They don’t have the same loyalty to Tooru that Iwaizumi does. And while he doesn’t like to think about it, the possibility hovers in the back of his mind every time they spend time together.

It’s stressful. He wonders if this’ll cause him to gray prematurely.

Hanamaki gets off Matsukawa’s lap and picks up a pack from behind the stump, pulling it on, as Matsukawa stands.

“So, we’re off to find werewolves or some shit, yeah? Seize the day, yolo, probably going to get suspended if we’re caught?” Hanamaki asks, raising his eyebrows.

Iwaizumi wishes he hadn’t brought up that last one. It’s been bugging him since he left the house.

“We will _not_ get caught, and if we do then we’ll just have to make sure we’ve slayed a werewolf first,” Tooru says with full confidence.

“Slayed?” Hanamaki repeats, snickering.

“Slain,” Matsukawa corrects impassively.

“Slewn.” Hanamaki’s snickers have turned into a laugh.

Tooru’s turned red, and he stomps his foot. “If you’re done correcting my grammar!” Turning on his heel, he storms off into the woods.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa follow, still swapping variations of “slay” back and forth, each word getting more ridiculous than the last. Iwaizumi takes up the rear guard, glancing behind him and around, wishing he were in front so he could keep Tooru from walking into anything too dangerous. But he knows how much Tooru teases him for his hovering, so he remains in his position, trying to ignore the others’ soft laughs.

They’ve only walked from the clearing for about ten minutes when Tooru stops abruptly. Matsukawa and Hanamaki fall silent, and the four remain still, each of them listening to the sounds of the forest. It’s grown darker, with the branches of the trees blocking out the moonlight, and crickets chirp loudly. There’s a rustle in the bushes beside them, and Iwaizumi feels goosebumps prickle up his arms.

“Is that one?” Hanamaki asks curiously.

“Sounds too small to be a werewolf,” Matsukawa says, shaking his head.

“It’s probably a rabbit. Let’s keep moving,” Iwaizumi says, nodding to Tooru.

Tooru nods back, turning back around and beginning to walk once more. His steps are measured more closely now, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa don’t return to their banter. The quiet is oppressive, and Iwaizumi can feel his heart pounding faster in his chest. He’s pretty sure these kinds of nerves aren’t good for his health, but he tells himself to stay calm, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly.

Hanamaki glances back at him, giving him an “are you okay?” look. Iwaizumi nods briskly, not wanting him to worry. He’ll be fine. He just hates this part of hunting. The waiting. The stifling quiet that squeezes his chest. The sweat that sticks his shirt to his back and makes his palms damp.

He rubs them on his pants.

“Hold up,” Tooru says suddenly, stopping once more. “There’s someone following us.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Two someone’s, actually.”

Iwaizumi wonders if he can sense that through his demon powers. He pauses, listening, paying close attention to the sounds around them. He realizes that it’s actually _too_ quiet. Aside from the crickets, he can’t hear any other animal activity. And while that could just mean that they’ve been scared off by their own footsteps, Iwaizumi knows by now to trust Tooru’s instincts on things he can’t see for himself.

He slowly moves up the line to Tooru, murmuring softly, “where?”

Tooru nods to the bushes on their left sides. “Three or four paces back.”

Iwaizumi nods and, after gesturing for them to stay put, quickly ducks into the trees. It doesn’t take him long before he can hear soft voices whispering behind a tree. They sound somewhat familiar, but he can’t quite place them. He crouches low, watching his steps to ensure he’s completely silent, as he sneaks up to the tree.

“I think they know we’re here,” a voice whispers worriedly.

“If they do it’s because you keep _whispering_. Shut _up_ ,” a second voice hisses.

“You’re whispering too.”

Iwaizumi recognizes the first voice once he hears the petulant tone. Frowning, he walks around the tree, appearing in front of the two teenagers sitting in the grass with their backs to the tree. They jump at his sudden appearance, one grabbing at the other in fright. To this one Iwaizumi narrows his eyes.

“Kindaichi. What are you doing here?”

The second boy, whom Iwaizumi now recognizes as Kunimi, a boy in Kindaichi’s year, shakes off Kindaichi’s arm.

“He said you were going werewolf hunting.” Kunimi stands, shrugging like he’s unaffected now by Iwaizumi’s presence. “He wanted to join you, or something.” His voice is nonchalant, as though he doesn’t care that he’s been caught, but Iwaizumi notices the way his lower lip barely catches between his teeth. The boy is smart, one of the top students in his year. If he’s caught participating in an unsanctioned hunt, he could get in a lot of trouble.

It makes Iwaizumi wonder why he allowed himself to be talked into such foolishness in the first place. He turns to look at Kindaichi, who’s more outwardly nervous, his hands twisting together in front of him.

“I’m sorry Iwaizumi-san! I know you told me not to tell anyone, but it sounded so cool. I thought . . . I thought I could help.” He looks down at his feet, ashamed.

Iwaizumi can’t help but feel for the kid. He’s tall for his age, and while he’s a good fighter, his nerves often have him taking a more defensive than offensive approach to hunting. That’s not exactly the type of person their coaches like to see in their classes. Iwaizumi’s been helping him, tutoring him in fighting styles as well as research and essay assignments. He’ll admit that he’s grown fond of the kid.

Which is why he’s not that happy to see him out here on a night like tonight.

“Kindaichi, you’re fifteen. You’ve just started your combat training. You shouldn’t be out here, especially on the night of a full moon.”

Kunimi shoots Kindaichi a look that says, “I told you so,” while Kindaichi shrinks further into his shoulders.

“Iwa-chan~ What’s taking so long?”

Iwaizumi grimaces, turning to shout back for Tooru to wait a few more minutes, thinking he might be able to convince the two to go home. But as soon as he turns, there’s Tooru, standing flanked by Hanamaki and Matsukawa, looking at him curiously.

“What did you find, Iwa-chan?” Tooru asks, his voice lilting. He glances over Iwaizumi’s shoulder to where Kunimi and Kindaichi stand side by side, looking sheepish. “I thought you got out of babysitting,” he says then, wrinkling his nose.

“Don’t be rude to your kouhai, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes. “This is Kunimi and Kindaichi. They were just leaving.” He turns to give the teens a pointed look.

“But we want to join you on your hunt!” Kindaichi bursts out, apparently no longer shy.

Kunimi steps on his foot, but he ignores him, simply stepping away and watching Iwaizumi with large eyes that make Iwaizumi feel embarrassed for some reason. He rubs the back of his neck before shaking his head.

“Absolutely not,” he says, lowering his hand. “Go home. You’re not ready for this kind of hunt, especially unsupervised.”

“But you’re Iwaizumi-san! You’re the best hunter in school! Probably the whole city!”

“Is he now?” Hanamaki asks, raising his eyebrows. “That’s news to me.” He turns to Matsukawa. “Did you know we were in the presence of such royalty?”

Matsukawa shakes his head. “I had no idea. We didn’t even ask for his autograph.”

“Why would you want _his_ autograph when _I’m_ standing right here?” Tooru asks indignantly.

“All of you shut the fuck up,” Iwaizumi snaps, feeling a headache forming. He turns back to Kindaichi, who looks self-conscious now. He’s scuffing his foot against the dirt, staring down at it while chewing on his lip. Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity and sighs.

“Look, if you go home right now I promise I’ll come by to tutor you tomorrow. I’m sorry I bailed on you tonight.”

Kindaichi lifts his head. Kunimi’s frowning faintly, but before either of them can speak, Tooru freezes and holds up a hand.

“Everyone be quiet,” he hisses, eyes trained on the trees ahead.

As they all turn to look at him, he lifts his chin, sniffing the air delicately. Iwaizumi’s chest tightens, and he wonders if Tooru even knows how strange he looks when he does that. Nobody normal sniffs the air like an animal. Nobody can sense the things Tooru can. So why does he insist on acting different? It makes Iwaizumi’s blood run cold.

“There’s a werewolf nearby,” Tooru says in a hushed voice, eyes gleaming. He turns to look at Iwaizumi with an excited grin. “This is it, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi lowers his pack off his shoulder, pulling out his crossbow and a couple silver-tipped arrows. He unfolds the crossbow slowly, fitting an arrow to it. He looks over at Tooru then, who gestures for Iwaizumi to go around to the left. Hanamaki and Matsukawa receive orders to move forward, while Tooru circles around to the right.

“What about us?” Kindaichi asks softly.

Tooru curls his lip, but before he can say anything, Iwaizumi gestures for Kindaichi and Kunimi to get low.

“Stay here and don’t move,” he says firmly.

“I thought we were supposed to go home,” Kunimi drawls.

Kindaichi glances at him with wide eyes, but Iwaizumi ignores the insolence. He waits until they both move to sit against the tree again before nodding to Tooru the okay to move forward. Tooru nods in return, disappearing immediately into the shadows of the trees. Matsukawa and Hanamaki each draw their pistols, which Iwaizumi knows holds silver bullets. He notes the silencers, grateful that his friends thought ahead.

As he moves deeper into the trees, however, he realizes he never saw Tooru grab a weapon. Was he planning on taking down a werewolf with his bare hands? He wouldn’t attempt something so foolish, would he? Iwaizumi grits his teeth, contemplating abandoning his post to find Tooru and shake him. He’s stronger than most humans, it’s true, and Iwaizumi doubts a bite from a werewolf would turn him, but with Hanamaki and Matsukawa with them Tooru can’t just fling himself onto a monster and expect them not to ask questions later when he survives it.

_Fucking dumbass crazy piece of—_

He pauses his mental cursing when he hears someone walking toward them, footsteps moving softly but not silently through the bushes. He gets low, lifting his crossbow to aim it in the direction of the sound. It grows louder as it gets nearer, and Iwaizumi tenses.

A twig snaps, and a figure emerges from behind a tree. Immediately Iwaizumi lowers his crossbow, as he recognizes the young man.

“Yahaba-kun!” Tooru calls out, rushing forward with bright eyes. “What are you doing out here so late?” He glances around furtively, before leaning close to his kouhai with a small grin. “Are you a werewolf?”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa pull away from the shadows to approach, each of them lowering their weapons as well. Iwaizumi sighs, wondering why they keep running into their classmates like this. Is it just a night for a Seijoh reunion?

Yahaba, a student at Aoba Johsai, holding the second highest score in his class for weapons and combat training, though studying to be a researcher, stands looking bemused, with his hands in his pockets. He pulls them out to lift them harmlessly to the side.

“You got me, Oikawa-san. I’m a werewolf. I can’t believe you recognized me in this horrifying state.”

Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa snicker behind their hands, as Tooru leans back with an affronted frown.

“What are you doing then?” he asks, lifting his chin to look down his nose at Yahaba.

“I’m on an assignment. What are _you_ doing?”

“We’re not on assignment,” Iwaizumi admits. “But Oikawa has delusions of grandeur.”

Tooru sniffs, placing one hand on his hip. “They’re not _delusions_ , Iwa-chan.”

“How did you get an assignment?” Hanamaki asks, narrowing his eyes. “Irihata hasn’t given any of us shit in weeks.”

“Maybe that’s because all hunting assignments have been suspended,” Yahaba says, and when they all give him a blank look, he sighs. “Do _any_ of you read the school newsletter?”

“I just delete those,” Matsukawa admits.

“Spam folder,” Hanamaki adds.

“Who has time to read newsletters? My mailbox is full of fan mail anyway,” Tooru preens.

Iwaizumi frowns, actually remembering an email from Aoba Johsai that he received about a month back. Tooru was over at his house that day, he remembers, and he never got a chance to open it because Tooru whined in his ear until he abandoned his homework and went outside to play volleyball with him. He realizes now that he forgot to go back to it, and it’s probably still sitting unread in his inbox.

Yahaba sighs. “I’m on a research assignment. Something’s happening to the Hell Mouth. They’re not sure what, but demon activity has spiked recently. Principal Takeda has suspended all hunting assignments until the DHS clear the area.”

“And how long is that supposed to take?” Iwaizumi asks. The Demon Hunting Syndicate (or Dick Hunter Squad as Mattsun and Makki call it) are graduates from Aoba Johsai, hunters chosen specifically by the Sendai government to hunt and capture or kill the demons that escape the Hell Mouth. It’s the group every kid and teen in Aoba Johsai aspires to join, and Tooru plans on being its leader one day.

But Iwaizumi isn’t sure how he’s supposed to do that if they can’t even get the grades they need to pass their exams for their hunting licenses.

Yahaba shrugs. “It didn’t say. I don’t know how many demons escaped. It could be a while.”

“Fantastic. So meanwhile we just continue to grow older sitting in the same fucking classrooms,” Hanamaki complains. “When are we supposed to graduate? When we’re thirty?”

Yahaba just looks at him, like he’s wondering how that’s his problem.

Iwaizumi sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Thanks, Yahaba,” he says, wondering if he can convince Tooru to give up his mission for the night and get home. He feels uneasy at the thought of increased demon activity, knowing none of them stand a chance against a high level demon. “You should get home soon. It’s not safe out here with the full moon.”

Yahaba gives him a crooked smile. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Before Iwaizumi can wonder what he means by that, Kindaichi and Kunimi come crashing through the underbrush. Scowling, Iwaizumi whirls around to face them.

“I told you to stay put!” he snaps.

“Is all of Aoba Johsai in the woods tonight?” Yahaba asks, amused. “Is Watari going to drop from the trees?”

“It’s Coach Mizoguchi! He and Coach Irihata are on their way here!” Kindaichi gasps, doubling over. “I heard them in the clearing.”

“Shit! Everyone go! Mission aborted!” Iwaizumi barks, taking the arrow from his crossbow and folding it to place back in his pack. “Text me when you get home. Be safe and be _smart_. Yahaba!”

His kouhai starts, looking back at Iwaizumi with wide eyes. His bravado from earlier seems to have disappeared, his face pale, and Iwaizumi wonders briefly if he’s not out here on assignment after all.

“You get home too,” he says, softening his voice.

Yahaba nods, but he doesn’t follow them when they scatter through the trees. Iwaizumi can’t remember where he lives in the city, but he hopes he’s able to get home quickly.

Kindaichi and Kunimi have disappeared, and he soon loses sight of Matsukawa and Hanamaki. For a moment he’s alone, running through the woods as fast as he can while still dodging bushes and low-hanging tree branches. He’s always prided himself on how quietly he can move, being near the top of his class in stealth. But he doesn’t hear or sense Tooru at all before he’s beside him, almost like he materialized out of the dark.

There’s a glint in his eyes, and the grin on his face isn’t one Iwaizumi trusts whatsoever.

“What with that face?” he asks between breaths.

“The Hell Mouth is shivering.”

They’ve reached the street so Iwaizumi slows, clasping his hands behind his head to open his chest cavity, breathing deeply. The way Tooru says that sounds ominous, but the look on his friend’s face seems excited. Iwaizumi isn’t sure he likes that either.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what this means, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, turning to look at him. That red gleam is in his gaze again, sparking with an almost electrifying heat that Iwaizumi can feel as though it’s a tangible thing, reaching out to grab him.

He takes a step back instinctively. The glamor around Tooru’s form shimmers, cracking briefly to allow Iwaizumi the sight of his horns, curving out from either side of his head, thick and black with brown stripes that match the brown of his hair. Iwaizumi stares, wondering if they’ve grown larger since he last saw them. The thought unsettles him. Tooru’s still grinning, and his fangs catch the moonlight, glistening.

“No, I don’t,” Iwaizumi says slowly, warily.

“It means that there will be more demons to fight, more ways to up our status. By the time the DHS figure out how to close and seal the Hell Mouth, we’ll be at the top. More powerful than them all! Maybe we won’t even let them close it! We can let them all out; defeat every single one! Cleanse Hell for good!”

Tooru’s voice is rising, growing almost hysterical. Panicked, Iwaizumi jumps toward him, swinging his head back and then forward to connect with Tooru’s forehead with a _crack_. Tooru immediately drops to the sidewalk, holding his forehead and whining.

“Ow! Iwa-chan! That _hurt_!”

The glamor falls back into place, and instead of a towering demon before him, Iwaizumi sees just a nineteen-year-old boy, his best friend Tooru. The snot-nosed brat who loves aliens and thinks bugs are gross. He breathes a sigh of relief and crouches down in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says genuinely. “But you were acting all demony again.”

Tooru stills, lowering his hand. He bites his lip. “I was?” His voice is small, almost tremulous.

Iwaizumi hates when he gets like this, almost as much as he hates when he goes off on a demon spiel. He stands, holding his hand out. “Come on. You can stay over at my place tonight. We’ll watch one of your shitty movies.”

“ _Cowboys & Aliens_?” Tooru asks, taking Iwaizumi’s hand and pulling himself to his feet.

“Fuck _why_.”

Tooru laughs. “You like it.”

“It’s terrible.”

“Terribly awesome.”

“No, just terrible.”

“ _Iwa-chan_.”

“Ugh. _Fine_.”

Tooru cackles in triumph, going on about all the cool things Iwaizumi will catch while watching it a second time. It’s only when they’re nearly to Iwaizumi’s home that he realizes he never let go of Tooru’s hand.

And Tooru never let go either.

 

***

 

 

_[i can’t believe you’re stalking this poor child.]_

_Shut up, I’m not stalking him._

So Kuroo tells the whisper, but as he stands across the street from Possibly Kenta’s home, watching the window that he assumes leads to the boy’s bedroom, he realizes that he is basically stalking him.

He also has to take into account that he’s followed this boy in his cat form to and from school and to and from The Black Cat every day for the past two weeks. On Sundays when the boy doesn’t go to school but stays indoors, Kuroo remains outside, seated across the street for the entire day. He still hasn’t spoken to the boy, and he knows he’s being a wimp about this, but he has to think of the right thing to say. If he were to just appear in his human form front of the boy, call him Kenta and sweep him up into a passionate embrace, there’s a 50-50 chance he’ll get hexed for it.

_[more like an 80-20 chance.]_

Kuroo hisses under his breath, flicking his tail irritably. He doesn’t get a chance to make a retort, however, because the front door to Possibly Kenta’s house opens and the boy himself exits. He’s wearing normal jeans and an old hoodie. It completely swamps him, hanging almost to his knees, and his hands aren’t visible, as he turns to lock the door.

It’s adorable, and Kuroo’s chest squeezes, remembering how Kenta used to wear his tunics sometimes, even though it fit him more like a dress. Shaking that memory from his mind, Kuroo watches with interest as Possibly Kenta adjusts his backpack and then steps down to the sidewalk. For a moment he pauses and looks across the street to where Kuroo sits. Their eyes meet, and Kuroo feels the sudden need to check his paws for dirt or something. He ducks his head, licking at his paw until the boy turns and begins walking.

_[you’re pathetic.]_

Ignoring the whisper, Kuroo scampers after Possibly Kenta, following him down a different street than usual. Intrigued, he ventures a little closer, following the boy past the bus stop and uphill to where the houses get bigger and fancier, and the feel is more suburban.

_Where is he going?_

Possibly Kenta’s neighborhood is not a rich one. Kuroo would go as far to say that the boy’s family could probably use some help in the money department. Most of his clothes look old and worn, and that backpack is at least ten years old. Kuroo can’t help but wonder if The Black Cat isn’t doing well, or if the grandmother simply doesn’t provide well for her family.

Then again, considering how viciously she threatened him, Kuroo doubts that’s the reason.

Possibly Kenta comes to a stop in front of a gated lawn. Beside it stands another person, tall and muscular, with crazy spiked up hair dyed with silver streaks. He smiles at Possibly Kenta and waves, and they speak briefly before Possibly Kenta enters the gate and walks up to the house. The new person doesn’t move from his spot, however, simply watches the boy with a wistful look.

Finally! Someone who might be able to give Kuroo some information.

Kuroo dematerializes, transporting himself from the spot to his own apartment downtown to grab some clothes for his human form. He hates this method of transportation; it leaves a metallic taste in his mouth and his skin itches for hours afterwards, but it’s the fastest way. He grabs what he deems are nice clothes, wanting to make a good first impression. In the end he chooses a “business casual” look, with dark fitted jeans, a black button-down shirt tucked in neatly with a belt at his waist, with a black suit jacket on top. He leaves the collar of the shirt open and attempts to smooth his hair, but of course that doesn’t work. His hair’s never obeyed him, not even as a demon.

Last he spritzes on just the faintest hint of cologne, something to hopefully mask any demon scent the boy might catch, and transports himself back to that street corner. He checks the time on his watch. Only ten minutes have passed. Good. Possibly Kenta is most likely still inside the house.

Adjusting his jacket, he saunters up to the man standing by the gate. As he draws nearer, however, he realizes that the man is younger than he thought, possibly around his own age (while he was human at least), maybe younger. Around twenty years probably.

“Good morning,” he greets cheerily.

The young man starts, grinning faintly then, as he looks Kuroo up and down. Kuroo waits, appreciating the lingering look.

“Good morning,” he says in return after a moment, bowing briefly.

“May I ask why you’re standing here?” Kuroo asks. “Is there a ward against you?”

The young man laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Er, not exactly. Akaashi doesn’t really let anyone inside his home, so I’m just respecting that, you know? He’ll let me in when he wants me to come in. Which that’ll happen soon, I’m sure.”

The name “Akaashi” doesn’t mean anything to Kuroo, but he’s amused by this tale, so he leans against the stone wall beside the gate and gestures to the young man.

“I like your confidence, kid. What’s your name?”

“Bokuto. But I’m not a kid. I’m twenty.”

“My apologies,” Kuroo says with a grin. “I’m Kuroo.” He pushes off the wall to straighten, placing one hand in his pocket, while his other gestures toward Akaashi’s house. “If your friend Akaashi doesn’t allow people inside his home, how come that little one got in earlier?”

Bokuto blinks at him a moment, before realization dawns on him. “Oh! You mean Kozume-kun? He knew Akaashi before I ever saw him. He’s always allowed inside.”

Kozume. It must be the boy’s family name. Kuroo wonders if it’s too much luck for Bokuto to know Kozume’s given name.

“So if you’re friends with Akaashi, why doesn’t he let you inside?” Kuroo asks, hoping he can stall for time outside the house until Kozume exits once more.

Again that hand comes up to sheepish rub at the back of Bokuto’s neck. “Well, um, I guess you couldn’t really say we’re _friends_. I wave at him whenever he opens the curtains, but he just looks at me and closes them again. We’ve never actually spoken.”

Kuroo laughs. “Are you serious?” _This guy has it worse than me_.

“I’ve left letters in his mailbox!” Bokuto exclaims, gesturing for Kuroo to step over to the box seated beside him on the other side of the gate. He opens it and points inside. “See? There’s the one I left today. They’re always gone the next day, so I _know_ he reads them.”

“What do they say?” Kuroo asks, finding himself actually interested now in this strange young man’s story. He wonders if letters would work as an icebreaker between him and Kozume. Though he’s not sure he’ll know what to say in them.

Bokuto shrugs. “Just stuff about me. I told him my name and what I’m studying. I told him how I like his hair and his eyes and how I bet he has a really beautiful voice to match. I’ve told him about my favorite foods and colors and how wishes work. I’ve told him I wish he’ll talk to me or write back because I really want to get to know him. But no such luck yet.”

“Seems like you’re going to a lot of trouble for someone who doesn’t seem to want you around,” Kuroo muses.

Bokuto grins. “You’ll understand when you see him.”

“Is he that good looking?”

“Imagine the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen in your life,” Bokuto says. “And he’s probably _twice_ as beautiful as that.”

Kuroo nods in understanding, but his mind turns immediately to Kenta’s face. The delicate slope of his nose, his small pouty lips, the way his black hair framed his shimmering gold eyes. He’s pretty sure there’s not a single person in the universe that’s more beautiful than his Kenta.

Though now there’s Kozume, who looks exactly like him save for the dyed hair.

Bokuto’s fallen silent now, staring off at the front window of the house, as if hoping for the briefest glimpse of this glorious Akaashi. Kuroo takes the time to study the young man’s face. It’s an interesting face. Almost striking. And the gold of his eyes almost matches that of Kenta’s. They have the same glow to them. The same sparkle.

In fact, Kuroo can say everything about Bokuto seems to sparkle. Curious, Kuroo switches to his demon vision, careful to keep up a glamor so Bokuto doesn’t notice the glint of red in his gaze.

_Holy shit._

Bokuto’s aura is _stunning_. Not only is it gold (as most are), it glimmers with iridescent blues, purples, pinks, and greens. It’s almost like looking through a rainbow. He’s never seen anything like it. Slightly unsettled, Kuroo returns to his human vision, but his curiosity is now piqued.

“Where do you study?” he asks.

“Oh, um, Fukurodani University, but I take a lot of classes at the Nekoma Institute and the Aoba Johsai Demon Hunting School because I’m researching the fae. They say I’m crazy for doing it, that I’m wasting my future on a myth, but we deal with the stuffs of myths and legends all the time, right? So there has to be fae. They’re real. I know they are.”

Kuroo can’t recall ever seeing fae in his life, but he doesn’t mention that. Instead, his ears latch onto the name “Nekoma.” He’s seen that name before. On the front of Kozume’s school.

“They let college students take classes at Nekoma?” he asks, surprised. “Can you just . . . go to the office and enroll?”

Bokuto nods. “Yeah, it’s really simple! They’re not super strict about it. Over at Aoba Johsai you have to go through all these tests to enter, but at Nekoma they’re really laid back. They take anyone interested in magic, so long as you sign a wavier stating you won’t use black magic. That can get you written up by the Witches’ Council.”

Kuroo smirks faintly. “How would they know you’ve used it?”

Bokuto pauses, frowning as he thinks that over.

Meanwhile, Kuroo’s mind keeps working. This could be an opportunity. A way to get closer to Kozume without him suspecting him of having ulterior motives.

_[don’t tell me you’re going to enroll in this magic school when there are so many better things we could be doing.]_

_That’s exactly what I’m going to do._

 

***

 

 

Kenma likes the inside of Keiji’s home. It’s warm and cozy. He keeps his curtains closed, so there’s always a close, safe feel to it. The furniture is old and most are made of dark wood from ancient trees. There are shelves everywhere, holding knick-knacks and candles and mason jars full of various herbs, seeds, bones, and pickled animal bits. Keiji himself is always friendly and welcoming as well, speaking in a soft tone and moving carefully around Kenma.

He first met Keiji when he was fifteen, three years ago, when he visited with his grandma to deliver a box of spell books Keiji ordered from The Black Cat. Kenma had been surprised to see a boy only a year older than himself living alone in this expensive home. He’d been too shy to ask about it at the time, but he remembers being comforted by Keiji’s soft-spoken nature and the way he never tried to touch Kenma. (It was only later that he learned why.)

“Kenma-kun, you didn’t need to come all this way on a Sunday just to give these to me. Your grandmother said she could deliver it on Tuesday.”

Keiji stands in the kitchen making tea, wearing a dark blue kimono with a black hakama. His obi belt has tiny owls on it, and the sight of them makes Kenma smile faintly from his seat at the table. In front of him is a mason jar full of tiny crow bones. He knows why Keiji needs it, but he wonders if the supplies from The Black Crow are good enough. He seems to order more often than he used to, and that can only mean that the products he’s purchased before failed him.

“I had time today, so I said I could bring it,” he replies, wiggling his toes in the house slippers Keiji provided for him. They have cat faces on them, and he wonders if Keiji bought them for Kenma to wear specifically. They’re the same ones Keiji always offers. The thought warms his chest, and he again thinks of how kind Keiji is.

It’s strange, because most people assume Akaashi Keiji, the recluse witch of Sendai, is standoffish and rude. All because he forbids others to come into his home and refuses to interact with his neighbors.

If only they knew the reason.

“Did you know Bokuto-san is still hanging out at your gate?” Kenma asks after Keiji sets the tea down in front of him.

Keiji sighs, taking a seat with his own teacup. “Yes, I know.”

“Why don’t you just hex him?”

“He isn’t hurting anyone by being there.” Keiji sips his tea, not meeting Kenma’s gaze.

“Is he still writing you letters?” Kenma kicks his feet against the floor, drinking his tea and watching Keiji over the rim of his cup.

Keiji sets down his and gives Kenma a wan smile. “Kenma-kun, I know you mean well, but you know I can’t initiate anything with him, no matter how much I enjoy his letters.”

“You could at least write back.”

Keiji purses his lips, but says nothing. The silence grows, but it’s a comfortable silence. Both of them prefer the quiet, and it’s peaceful here. Sometimes, when Kenma lies awake at night staring at the ceiling, he contemplates a scenario in which he asks Keiji if he can move in with him. Just the opportunity to get away from his parents, to have a home full of comfort and harmony, makes his heart beat faster in want. He desires a life like this. Alone with maybe a few cats, but not lonely. Because he’d have Keiji with him, with Mori and Lev only a phone’s call away.

He’s tired of feeling lonely in his own home.

But he can never bring himself to request this. It seems selfish when Keiji has gone so out of his way to remain by himself.

“Keiji, do you know a spell to keep someone from following you?”

“Do you have a stalker as well, Kenma-kun?” Keiji asks with a faint grin.

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure. I’ve been seeing this cat . . . and I know it’s the same cat every time. I can sense it. I don’t know what it wants, but something feels off about it and it makes me uncomfortable.”

“And I suppose confronting it is out of the question,” Keiji muses.

Kenma simply blinks at him, thinking that should be obvious.

Keiji laughs softly. “Unless I know what type of creature this is, I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. I can offer you invisibility spells and wards to place around your house to keep it outside, but other than that . . . I can’t completely rid you of this nuisance unless I know what I’m dealing with.”

Kenma nods slowly, supposing that makes sense. He wonders if he’ll have to confront the cat anyway, and the thought turns his stomach. He glances toward the door, the nerves knotting tighter.

_Is he still out there?_

Keiji follows his gaze. “Is it here?”

Kenma glances back at him, nodding again. Pursing his lips, Keiji stands. As Kenma watches in shock, he makes his way over to the door, opening it and stepping outside in his tabi socks and geta sandals. Kenma jumps to his feet, hurrying after Keiji and hoping nothing terrible will happen to him because of this.

Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his kimono, Keiji approaches the two men conversing by the gate. Kenma halts immediately when the men turn in surprise to watch Keiji approach. His heart thuds faster in his chest, as the man standing beside Bokuto lifts his gaze from Keiji to Kenma.

It’s him. The man from his nightmare.

Kuro.

Tetsu.

Leaping back, Kenma slams the door shut. He presses his hands against it, staring at his fingers as they grip the wood, trembling. His whole body is trembling.

_This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. I’m just dreaming._

A quick, hard bite to his knuckle reveals that he’s not. Standing on his tiptoes, Kenma looks through the peephole of the door. Keiji is talking to Kuro and Bokuto, staying a respectful distance away, hands still safely hidden. Kenma can’t see their expressions, but he knows Kuro is still staring at the door. He can feel it like a burning hot coal pressed against his chest.

His skin feels shivery, and he flinches as something cold touches his aura. It’s like ice caressing him, and he jerks away from the door, stumbling over his shoes and landing hard on his backside.

_Kenta? Kenta, is that you?_

The whisper is soft in his mind, a tendril of cold blackness stroking the barriers of his mind. He scrambles to reinforce them, shutting his eyes and clamping his hands over his ears, but the whisper persists, pounding louder and louder against the walls he struggles to thicken. He’s never had to use his mental blocks before. Nobody’s ever attempted to penetrate his head this way.

He didn’t think anyone could.

**_Kenta, is that you? Kenta, is that you? Kenta, is that you?_ **

Kenma presses harder against his ears and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Kuroo is kiiiiiiiiiind of creep right now. He's been a demon for over 600 years. He'll learn. He'll get better.
> 
> (you might've noticed that this and the last chapter don't have an "Up Next" like my multi-fics usually do. That's because I actually didn't make an outline for this one and I'm writing by the seat of my pants. It'll be interesting, that's for sure. Let's see what comes up!)
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	3. fail and try and try again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another update so soon??? I know, right?
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

have you ever been in love? horrible isn't it? it makes you so vulnerable.  
it opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.

\-- neil gaimen, _the sandman, vol. 9: the kindly ones_

* * *

 

 

Akaashi had not planned for his first conversation with Bokuto to go this way. He’d imagined various scenarios in the privacy and security of his bedroom, late at night when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes they met over coffee. Sometimes he invited him in for tea. But this . . . this he had not imagined.

His heart is hammering near his throat, as he walks down the path to the gate, gripping his forearms with his hands inside his kimono sleeves. Bokuto is talking animatedly with a tall man in black with dark hair, who seems interested in whatever Bokuto is saying. Akaashi looks around for a black cat but sees none. There’s something off about the man, though. He can sense darkness surrounding him, shrouding his aura. Akaashi can’t get a complete read on him, which is unnerving.

Turning from him, Akaashi addresses Bokuto.

“Bokuto-san.”

Instantly Bokuto freezes. He turns to look at Akaashi with wide eyes. Akaashi’s insides shiver. Although he’s seen Bokuto from his window, this is his first time observing him up close.

He hadn’t realized how much his eyes _glowed_. Swallowing hard, he keeps his expression neutral, as he straightens his shoulders.

“I’m sorry to disturb your conversation, but have either of you seen a cat nearby?”

“A cat?” Bokuto’s staring at him, the words coming out blankly.

Akaashi feels uncomfortable with the scrutiny and turns to look at the man beside Bokuto, but he’s staring back at the house over Akaashi’s shoulder. His eyes are bright, a gold darker than Bokuto’s, and his lips are parted in an open expression of wonder and excitement. Akaashi frowns, about to ask what he’s looking at, when he hears a scream from inside the house.

Whirling around, he rushes back to the door. He can hear footsteps following him, but only Bokuto’s by his side when he flings open the door and sees Kenma lying on the floor. His eyes are closed, and blood drips from his nose to stain the pale brown of his front entrance rug.

“Kozume-san!” Bokuto exclaims, hurrying forward.

Akaashi remains frozen by the door, his heart pounding faster, his blood turning cold. What had happened? Had he been attacked? But Akaashi’s home is covered in protective spells and wards against demons. There isn’t a way an attack should be possible.

He wants to reach out, to check for a pulse, to smooth back Kenma’s hair, attempt to wake him. But he can only stand there, gripping his arms, staring.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto’s voice rings out, pulling Akaashi from his daze. He’s pulled Kenma halfway into his lap and is looking up at Akaashi with a desperate expression. “Akaashi, what do we do?”

Akaashi crouches beside him quickly, looking over Kenma’s prone body. Nothing seems to have been touched, and he’s only bleeding from his nose. Biting the inside of his cheek, Akaashi inhales shakily before answering.

“Check for a pulse and don’t move him more than this. I’ll grab a cool cloth for his head and a potion that might wake him.”

As he stands, Bokuto reaches out to grab the material of his hakama. Akaashi stiffens, but Bokuto doesn’t try to touch him anywhere else.

“Should I call for an ambulance?” he asks.

Akaashi shakes his head. “This was a magical attack. They won’t be able to help him at a hospital.”

Bokuto nods, letting go of him. Akaashi glances over his shoulder, realizing that the unfamiliar man hadn’t followed them inside. The doorway is empty, and nobody stands on the path or near the gate. The man is gone, as if he never was. That causes a squirm of uneasiness in Akaashi’s stomach, but he dismisses it quickly in favor of hurrying to his study to grab a vial from a drawer in his desk. He stops by the kitchen to retrieve a soft washcloth. He wets it with water from the sink, before returning to Bokuto’s side.

“Place this on his forehead and make him drink this.” Akaashi sets the items down on the floor, before moving away to sit on the floor a safe distance away.

Bokuto seems perplexed by his retreat, but he does as he’s told, gently laying the cloth against Kenma’s forehead and then carefully parting Kenma’s lips with his fingers, spilling the contents of the vial between them before lightly massaging the boy’s throat to get him to swallow.

Akaashi watches this with a lump in his own throat. His eyes are fixed on Bokuto’s hands. They look big and strong, calloused, yet his touch is so delicate against Kenma’s skin, almost as though he’s afraid of breaking him.

Akaashi’s skin itches. He digs his nails into arms, scratching absently. He can’t remember the last time he felt another’s touch. He still remembers his mother giving him a pair of gloves when he was thirteen, telling him to wear them at all times once he felt The Burning.

He felt it that very night. He’s not sure how she knew, how she’d predicted it so well. As he lay in bed, he felt his skin tingle, a heat spreading across it so sharp it felt like his entire being was on fire. He started to cry. He called out for his mother, but when she came to his doorway, she didn’t enter. She stood there, hand gripping the doorframe, with silent tears streaming down her cheeks, as Akaashi writhed and stifled screams.

The next morning she told him he could never touch another living thing again.

At first he didn’t believe her. Didn’t want to believe her. He went outside and found a toad. He poked it with a stick until he was sure it wouldn’t run away then pulled off his glove and reached out a hand. As soon as his fingers touched its back, it began to squirm. A black spot spread from Akaashi’s touch, burning into the skin of the toad like acid, eating away at its flesh. Crying out in horror, Akaashi withdrew his hand quickly. The decay stopped immediately, but the burn had spread too far and the toad lay twitching in the grass until it grew still and didn’t move again.

From then on, Akaashi wore his gloves. He grew paranoid, afraid of touching his friends at school. So he stopped going. He stopped playing with the neighborhood kids, locked himself in his room reading books and practicing his violin. But soon he stopped doing that as well. There was no point when he couldn’t bring himself to go to recitals.

When he was sixteen, his mother got pregnant. Terrified that he might hurt his new brother or sister, he insisted that his parents move away. Sometimes he wonders why they were so quick to take him up on that offer. They continue to pay for the house and utilities, being wealthy enough to maintain two homes. They give him a generous allowance every two weeks to feed himself.

But they never visit.

Nine months later, Akaashi received a photo of his new baby sister. Her name is Kiyomi. “Pure, clean” and “beautiful.” It stings when he reads the kanji and realizes the reason behind the name. His sister isn’t tainted, like him. She’s not cursed, like him.

He still hasn’t met her.

“Akaashi?”

Akaashi pulls himself from his memories, focusing his gaze on Bokuto. He’s still cradling Kenma in his lap, and he’s watching Akaashi with curious eyes, glittering in the sunlight shining through the still open door.

“Yes, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s ears seem to glow pink, though that could just be a trick of the light.

“It’s really nice to hear your voice,” he says with a slow grin.

Akaashi stares at him, feeling his own ears heating up, that heat spreading to his face. He clears his throat, digging his nails deeper into his arms.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“You got my letters, right?” He shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on Kenma to face Akaashi more fully. He’s still grinning. “Did you read them? Did you like them? They were pretty great, right? I spent a lot of time on them!”

Akaashi feels his lips twitching, and he purses them to keep from smiling as he nods. “I did read them, and I appreciate the time you took to write them.” He hesitates, relaxing his grip slightly. “I enjoyed them very much.”

Bokuto practically sparkles at this admission. He opens his mouth excitedly, but cuts himself off as Kenma makes a small noise, stirring in his lap. He turns his attention to the boy, helping him sit up as Kenma opens his eyes.

“Ke—”

Akaashi quickly shakes his head, glancing at Bokuto, his heart pounding in his throat once more. Kenma bites his lip, looking down at the arms around him, before looking up at Bokuto’s face close to his own. His cheeks pinken, and his gaze flickers to the door.

“Is he gone?” he asks softly.

“Is who gone?” Akaashi asks gently, knowing he probably means the dark-haired man, but not sure who he is to Kenma.

Kenma just turns away from the door, looking down at his hands instead.

“Do you mean Kuroo?” Bokuto asks dubiously.

Kenma’s shoulders stiffen. Akaashi frowns, wondering if this Kuroo was the one to attack Kenma. He remembers the blackness infecting the man’s aura, and he hopes Kenma isn’t getting himself mixed up with dangerous people.

Kenma moves to stand, and Bokuto leaps to his feet to help him. Akaashi follows suit, though more slowly, wishing he knew what was going on. But Kenma simply brushes Bokuto’s hands off him, walking into the kitchen to grab his backpack. Bokuto watches him with concern.

“Are you sure you should be walking around, Kozume-kun? Maybe you should lay down.”

“I’m fine,” Kenma says, as he returns. He gives Akaashi a tiny bow. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Before Akaashi can stop him, he pulls on his shoes and steps outside, shutting the door behind him. This leaves Bokuto and Akaashi alone, and Akaashi can feel his skin starting to crawl again. It’d be rude to simply kick him out, though, so though he takes a step back he slowly pulls his hands out of his kimono sleeves and gestures toward the kitchen.

“Would you like to join me for tea, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s face brightens like the sun, and he grins so happily that Akaashi feels a calm sort of warmth in his chest that he usually only experiences while reading Bokuto’s letters. It’s strange to feel while looking at him. It feels more intimate, more personal, and he quickly turns away, stepping toward the kitchen with Bokuto at his heels.

 

***

 

“No, see you can’t use a short range attack on imps because they can fly. You won’t be able to get close enough. You have to use a crossbow or a shotgun for that.” Iwaizumi points to the book laid out in front of him, tapping his finger on the photo of a crossbow on one page.

Kindaichi grins, glancing up at Iwaizumi. “Like your crossbow.”

Iwaizumi smiles back with a nod. “Right, except mine doesn’t have enough power to reach an imp that’s flying too high. I’d have to use one with more thrust capacity.”

“Are you two done yet? I’m bored.” Kunimi sits across from them, one arm tucked beneath his head on the table, the other stretched out in front of him, his absently tapping fingers inches from the notebook Kindaichi’s writing in.

They’re in the library of Aoba Johsai after class hours. Iwaizumi offered to tutor Kindaichi today since he bailed on him the other week, even though this means he’ll be tutoring the kid twice in one week. He doesn’t mind it, but since it’s not their usual scheduled day, Kunimi doesn’t have his advanced weaponry class. Iwaizumi wonders if he doesn’t have any other friends, seeing as he opted to sit with them throughout their session and do nothing. Iwaizumi also wonders why he doesn’t tutor Kindaichi, seeing as he’s in most of the advanced classes in his year.

He decides it must be due to lack of patience.

“We’ve only got a couple more things to go over,” Kindaichi tells his friend. “You could read a book while you wait?”

Kunimi sighs, sitting back in his seat. “I’ve read most of these already.”

Kindaichi gapes. “Most of the books in this _whole_ library?”

Kunimi stares back at him with a single raised eyebrow, looking as though he thinks the question is idiotic. Iwaizumi watches the two of them with some amusement and vague irritation, if only because this interruption is wasting their time and Tooru’s already tried to call him about six times, and he knows he’s going to get an earful when he finally gets a chance to call him back.

“Okay, so with this next question—”

“Iwaizumi-san? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

A new voice interrupts and the three at the table look up to see Yahaba standing with an armload of books, his boyfriend Kyoutani standing close behind him. He seems more roughed up than usual. Iwaizumi notes some healing scratches near his eye and more on his hands. They appear to be scratches from a fall into bushes or a small animal, but he’s not sure if he should ask. Despite being younger, Kyoutani’s fairly intimidating, with his perpetual scowl, habit for few words, and muscular frame.

He probably couldn’t beat Iwaizumi in arm-wrestling, but that didn’t mean Iwaizumi was going to try to get on his bad side.

Honestly, everyone in Seijoh was surprised when he and Yahaba got together. At first there were jokes going around about Kyoutani breaking Yahaba in bed; but Iwaizumi knows Yahaba is tougher than he looks. Still, it’s a relief to see him relatively unharmed, seeing as the last time he saw his kouhai was in the woods that night of the full moon.

“Don’t you usually tutor Kindaichi on Fridays? Today is Monday.”

Iwaizumi frowns faintly, not sure why Yahaba knows his schedule. “Yeah, but this is a make up one since I didn’t get to that night we met up in the woods.”

Kyoutani stiffens, his scowl darkening. Iwaizumi can feel his gaze burning into the side of his face, but he keeps his own gaze on Yahaba, trying not to feel unnerved.

Yahaba nods slowly. “I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. That’s just my usual table.”

“You’re free to use it still,” Iwaizumi offers, gesturing to the end where empty chairs sit.

“Thank you.”

Yahaba sits, setting his books down as he does. Kyoutani takes the seat beside him, scooting it in closer until their shoulders brush. Yahaba hides a smile, as he lowers his head and pulls the first book off his stack to bring closer, opening it to search the table of contents. Iwaizumi catches the title and raises his eyebrows.

“You’re reading about the Hell Mouth?”

Kindaichi stiffens beside him, and even Kunimi looks interested, as he watches the two at the end of the table. Yahaba purses his lips, looking up from his book to look around the table.

“Shouldn’t we all be studying up on it?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “This is already affecting our lives, and it hasn’t even opened. I think we should learn more about it if we’re going to be fighting back the apocalypse. ‘Know your enemy.’ Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

Iwaizumi and the others exchange looks.

“But we won’t have to deal with the Hell Mouth, right? I mean, the DHS will take care of it,” Kindaichi says, his teeth worrying on his lower lip.

“I’m sure they’ll try. But they’re only men going up against dozens if not hundreds of demons a day. I won’t be surprised if they start recruiting us to assist soon.” Yahaba says this so calmly, Iwaizumi almost doesn’t catch his fear except he sees the way Yahaba swallows hard and presses his shoulder harder against Kyoutani’s. Kyoutani glances at his boyfriend, his frown slipping from a scowl to one closer to concern.

“But we’re only men too,” Iwaizumi points out, not thinking that a highly respected group such as the DHS would look to students to fight in any sort of apocalyptic battle. He glances at Kindaichi beside him and Kunimi across from them. These two are just kids. Not even sixteen years old. There’s no way they’d be asked to fight a large-scale battle. They haven’t even been cleared for supervised hunting assignments yet.

“All the more reason to study,” Yahaba states matter-a-factly and returns to his book.

Iwaizumi turns back to Kindaichi, trying to shake the feeling of unease that’s settled over him. Afterwards, he heads to Tooru’s house, thinking about that night he talked about the Hell Mouth “shivering.” He has no idea how Tooru would know something like that, but it worries him. And although he hasn’t seen an appearance of demon!Tooru since then, he gets the feeling he’s still there lurking beneath the surface.

Not for the first time does he wish he knew who Tooru’s father is. If he’s some high-level demon, maybe he could make the Hell Mouth close for the sake of his son’s wellbeing and happiness. In his experience, demons don’t care about things like that, but maybe Tooru’s father is different. He must’ve had feelings for Tooru’s mother in some capacity. Iwaizumi doesn’t think that she’d have a kid with just anyone.

Tooru’s in his room when Iwaizumi arrives, soft serving a volleyball against the wall. It bounces off and hits the ground, flying up into his hands in a perfect cycle. He looks up as Iwaizumi enters, catching the ball in both hands and squeezing.

“I called you like a hundred times,” he says.

“I ignored them.” Iwaizumi picks up Tooru’s desk chair, setting it closer to his friend and straddling it, folding his arms across the top. “I was tutoring.”

“I wanted to play volleyball, but it’s no fun if I have to serve, receive, set, and spike all by myself.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “You can do that?” he asks, not entirely sure how advanced Tooru’s demons ability are.

“I can do many things, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says mysteriously, starting to serve against the wall once more.

Iwaizumi watches him for a moment, the way his shirt rides up just a smidge each time he lifts his arm, the movement of his shoulders as his arm moves forward, the curve of his palm as he smacks it against the ball. He knows Tooru is a lot stronger than he appears, and he often wonders how much Tooru holds back to appear human.

“Hey, what did you mean about the Hell Mouth shivering?” he asks suddenly, catching Tooru off-guard.

Tooru blinks, missing the ball completely with his next swing. He still manages to catch it before it hits the ground, and he turns his face toward Iwaizumi, head tilted to the side.

“I said that?”

“Yeah, the night of the full moon. Right before you got all demony,” Iwaizumi reminds him, wondering if he truly doesn’t remember. “I just . . . I was just wondering how you knew. Like, can you feel stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” Tooru’s voice is stiff, and his body has grown still. He’s clutching the volleyball with both hands again, and it’s starting to squeak in protest.

“Demon activity. Hell Mouth activity. Can you sense movement?” Iwaizumi studies him, wondering if he’s crossed a line. But Tooru doesn’t appear angry or annoyed. Instead he looks frightened. His eyes are wide, pupils large, and Iwaizumi frowns, moving to stand.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it—” He steps forward, hand up to clasp Tooru’s shoulder, but he stops when Tooru takes a small step back.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” he admits quietly, turning his gaze down to the ball in his hands.

Iwaizumi’s gut clenches. “Again?”

Tooru bites his lip. “Still. They haven’t stopped, Iwa-chan. They . . . they never stop.” He shakes his head, inhaling deeply. “That thing is still there, waiting for me. And it’s presence feels stronger now. I know it wants me to do something, but I don’t know what. I don’t want to do it though, Iwa-chan. I don’t.” He shakes his head quickly.

Iwaizumi’s heart pounds hard against his chest. He steps closer again, lifting his hand once more, this time grabbing Tooru’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. “So don’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Tooru nods, smiling faintly, but Iwaizumi can still see the glistening sheen of tears covering his eyes. He’s not sure what to do. He’s never been great as this comforting thing. The most he knows he can do is hold Tooru, so he does, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him close. Tooru immediately drops the volleyball and presses back against him, arms in a vice-like grip around him.

“I’ve gotten uglier too,” Tooru laments in his ear, a faint whine entering his tone.

Iwaizumi can’t help but bark a short laugh, not having expected that but at the same time not at all surprised.

Tooru pulls away with a pout. “Don’t laugh at me, Iwa-chan! It’s true! The beautiful young man you see before you is not my true visage! If you saw the real me, you’d be shocked and horrified and probably run away screaming.”

Iwaizumi snorts, rolling his eyes. “What am I, a twelve-year-old girl? Let me see.”

“No!” Tooru shrieks, leaping away. He’s over his bed in a single bound, using it as a barrier between him and Iwaizumi, as if Iwaizumi could even do anything to get Tooru to show him.

“Come on,” he says with a grin, stepping up to the bed anyway. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s _horrible_.”

“You’re always exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You _just_ said you tried calling me a hundred times when I can show you right now it was only six.”

Tooru crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. “It _felt_ like a hundred times.”

“Come on, I promise I won’t laugh.”

Tooru narrows his eyes at him skeptically. “You promise?”

Iwaizumi nods, losing his grin to give Tooru his most serious and sincere expression. “I promise.”

Tooru sticks his tongue out very maturely, before he drops his arms to his sides and inhales sharply. As he exhales, he closes his eyes and Iwaizumi watches the glamor melt away slowly. It starts from the top of his head, and Iwaizumi thinks he can detect a faint shimmer, like the edges of an invisible cloth being pulled away.

He can see Tooru’s horns now, better than in the light of the moon, and they have grown larger, extending out from either side of his head and then curving in near the tips. When he opens his eyes, his left one is completely red, while the other remains chocolate brown, and past his parted lips Iwaizumi can see the gleam of his fangs, though the rest of his teeth seem sharper too.

There’s a pattern of dark brown, nearly black, patches of hardened skin like scales on the left side of his face, trailing down along his neck to disappear into the collar of his shirt. Throughout the patches are shapes like runes, some swirling others straight, but Iwaizumi can’t tell if they’re actual words or just a similar design. That’s new. His ears seem more pointed as well, sticking out just slightly from beneath the curls of his hair. Tooru’s claws have grown too, long and sharp and black on each finger and thumb.

Iwaizumi swallows hard, taking in all these changes. He feels a twinge of something akin to fear in his stomach, twisting with an anxiety he doesn’t like. This is a monster in front of him, not his best friend.

Tooru scrunches his nose, a familiar gesture that brings Iwaizumi crashing back into reality. Of course this is his best friend. Who else would it be?

_He’s not a monster. Fuck, I can’t believe I thought that for even a second._

“You’re right,” he lies flatly, attempting to calm the rapid beat of his heart. “That’s pretty ugly.” Ugly isn’t the word he would’ve chosen. Unsettling, perhaps. Terrifying, maybe. But not ugly.

Of course he can’t use those words to describe Tooru. They’re not right.

“Iwa-chan! You weren’t supposed to _agree_ with me!” Tooru wails, throwing himself facedown on the bed.

Iwaizumi feels a twist of guilt, but not for his words. How could he think that this ridiculous, over-dramatic nerd of a person was anything less than the boy he’s known and loved for more than half his lifetime? It stings sharp like betrayal, and he moves to sit beside Tooru on the bed, reaching to touch his back lightly.

“Hey, you’re still you. No matter what you look like.” He takes Tooru’s shoulder to turn him over.

The glamor is back in place, and Tooru looks up at him with watery, suspicious eyes. “What if I turn into some kind of snake monster?” he asks.

“Then I’ll have the lamest fucking snake monster as a best friend.”

“Mean!” Tooru sits up, grabbing his pillow to smack Iwaizumi with it. “I’d be the coolest, most handsome snake monster in the world!”

Iwaizumi laughs, grabbing the pillow to stop its movement. “I’m pretty sure all snake monsters are ugly as fuck.”

“You’re so mean to meeeeeee,” Tooru complains, flinging himself down across Iwaizumi’s lap in a display of lamentation.

Iwaizumi looks down at him, feeling his chest tighten. Hesitantly, he sets his fingers in Tooru’s hair, stroking through the silky softness of the strands. For some reason his mind goes back to that night, walking home beneath the full moon hand-in-hand with Tooru like it was something completely natural. Even though they hadn’t held hands like that since they were ten.

Tooru’s watching him, eyes sharp and perceptive in a way Iwaizumi is pretty sure he’ll never understand. His brain tells him to say something, but no words come to him. Instead, he tears his gaze away, looking up at the _Alien_ poster tacked to Tooru’s wall. He smiles faintly, glancing at the volleyball on the floor, before looking back down into Tooru’s face.

“You want to watch one of your dumb movies or play some volleyball?”

Tooru immediately sits up. “Volleyball!” He bounces off the bed, standing and scooping up the ball on his way to the door. “Call Mattsun and Makki and tell them they _have_ to come over to play too. I won’t take no for an answer~”

Iwaizumi chuckles, but as soon as Tooru leaves the room, the laughter dies on his lips. Even as he pulls out his phone, he feels a heavy weight settle on his shoulders. The demon part of Tooru’s DNA is growing stronger. There’s no denying that.

And as Iwaizumi sits on the bed, clutching his phone tightly in his hand, he wonders if one day soon he’s going to lose his best friend.

 

***

 

Kenma told Lev and Mori that he doesn’t want to talk about seeing the man from his nightmare outside of Keiji’s house. He explained to them what happened, and Mori immediately began coaching him on how to strengthen his mental blockers. Even so, Kenma doesn’t feel completely safe leaving his house on Monday to go to school. His friends flank him as always, and he doesn’t sense that cat anywhere nearby, but his nerves are on edge, and his anxiety is spiking.

He wears his school uniform with the hoodie, despite the day being warm, keeping the hood up over his head to help shield his face. He picks at his fingers, at the skin near his nails, until Mori reaches over and lightly smacks at them to get him to stop.

“Do you want me to go to your classes with you?” Mori asks when they arrive at the school. He’s a year above Kenma, but he watches Kenma’s face worriedly, and Kenma knows that he will follow him around all day if Kenma asks him to.

Kenma doesn’t want to burden him like that. So he shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he says quietly.

Lev, who’s been unusually silent the whole way to school, ducks down to try to put himself within Kenma’s line of vision. “I could stay with you, Kozume-san!”

Kenma smiles faintly, not even wanting to imagine the disaster that would be Lev attempting to sit through all of his classes, as they’re more advanced than Lev’s and the poor guy would probably be clueless and ask a million questions only half-way relevant to the current topic.

He shakes his head again. “I said I’ll be fine.”

And he is fine. At first.

He’s able to distract himself from his thoughts with the content of his classes, and there are a couple exams that require his full focus and attention. And his classmates all know by now to give him a wide berth, though the smiles of greeting they send his way also help.

By the time lunch break comes around, Kenma is beginning to relax. He lowers the hood of his hoodie even. But as he brushes back his hair, looking for Mori and Lev in the crowd of students gathered in the courtyard to eat, he sees him.

He’s standing only a few feet ahead of him, looking lost in the sea of people seated and walking around him. He’s holding a tray of food in his hands, and he’s wearing the official Nekoma Institute uniform (slacks, button-down shirt, tie, and blazer), looking for all the world like he belongs.

Kenma’s chest seizes. He draws in a breath, and impossibly that happens to catch the man’s attention. His head whips around, his golden eyes staring straight into Kenma’s. They widen, and for a moment neither of them move.

Then the man smiles.

Something in Kenma’s chest snaps in two.

He turns and flees the courtyard immediately; moving faster than he ever has in his life.

It’s not fast enough.

Just as he bursts through the doors of the school into the hallway, he feels a hand at his elbow, cold enough to feel through the material of his hoodie. Kenma jerks away immediately, stumbling against the window beside him. He must’ve made a noise, a small cry perhaps, because the man looks startled, and he immediately holds up his hands.

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” he says, seeming genuine.

“Go away,” Kenma murmurs, his heart pounding terribly fast. He hugs his arms to his chest, shrinking against the window, feeling the heat of the sun against his back, wishing Mori or Lev would somehow know his predicament and come save him.

“I need to talk to you.” The man’s voice is soft but earnest, and he tilts his head to the side, ducking slightly to try and catch Kenma’s eye.

Kenma turns his gaze to the floor, pursing his lips tightly and shaking his head quickly. He curls his fingers into the cuffs of his hoodie, picking at the edges, frayed from many instances of the same habit.

“Please, it’s important.” The man sighs, lowering his hands slowly. Kenma flinches, but he simply places them in his pockets. “I need to apologize for yesterday. What happened . . . I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He shakes his head. “I got . . . overexcited. I thought you were someone I knew, but I now know that you’re not.”

He sounds wistful, almost sad. Kenma lifts his gaze slowly, looking up into the man’s face. He’s chewing on his lip, watching Kenma in return, and there’s genuine regret in his eyes. Kenma wets his lips with his tongue, attempting to calm his still racing heart.

“Kenta,” he murmurs. “You thought I was Kenta.”

The man starts at the name, his eyes widening. He appears stricken, and Kenma feels a tiny bit of triumph, before pity fills him. He’s not sure why he feels that way, and he doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but he can sense this man’s pain almost as though it’s a tangible thing. It makes him want to reach out and take his hand, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hands firmly to himself and tells whatever’s going on to _stop_.

“You know about Kenta?” the man asks in a hushed tone, stepping closer.

Kenma leans back, pressing harder against the window. The man catches himself and grimaces, stepping back again. In reply, Kenma shakes his head.

“No. I just . . . had a dream about him.” He pauses before continuing, keeping his gaze firmly on the man’s face to make sure he catches his complete reaction. “And about you.”

There are several emotions that cross the man’s face: shock, excitement, then a careful mask of faint curiosity.

“Do you know who I am?”

Kenma takes a moment to answer, not sure if he should address him as the demon or as the man. In the end he decides to just say the name he recalls from the dream. “Kuro. Tetsu.”

The mask breaks for only a brief second, but Kenma sees the agony in the man’s eyes before it’s carefully tucked away. He feels strange at the sight of it. Like he stepped on something precious without care. He wants to apologize, but that seems strange, and he isn’t sure how it’d be received, so he remains silent.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “At least, I used to be. I still am, I suppose, but I’m not . . . quite human anymore. As I’m sure you know.”

Kenma says nothing, not sure if he’s supposed to answer when Kuroo already seems sure of himself with that assumption.

“And you’re Kozume . . .” he trails off, looking at Kenma expectantly, but Kenma just blinks up at Kuroo and wonders if he really expects Kenma to reveal his given name to someone he knows is a demon.

“Anyway, I’m sorry,” Kuroo goes on, leaving his hand on the back of his neck a moment before lowering it to his side. It curls into a loose fist, fingers twitching slightly.

Kenma glances at it warily, hoping he doesn’t try to touch him again. He doesn’t, but he looks at Kenma with that expectant look again, and Kenma wishes he’d just say what he wants from him so Kenma can know what exactly he’s dealing with and perhaps get him to leave him alone.

“Are you okay?”

That question startles Kenma. He snaps his gaze back up to Kuroo’s face, noting the genuine concern there. It’s unsettling. He knows Kuroo is seeing this Kenta person when he looks at him, and that knowledge makes him uncomfortable. He’s not Kenta. He’s never been Kenta. He’ll never _be_ Kenta.

And yet he gets the feeling that’s exactly what Kuroo wants.

_I’m never going to get rid of him, am I?_

“I’m—”

Before he can answer, the door to the courtyard bursts open. Kenma recoils, and Kuroo turns swiftly, arm extended behind him. Kenma opens his mouth to tell Kuroo again not to touch him, but then he realizes that he’s not trying to. Instead it’s more like Kuroo is shielding him.

His heart stutters. He frowns at the sensation.

Mori and Lev enter the hallway, both of them hurrying toward Kenma. Mori extends his hand palm forward.

“ _Abaeto_!” he shouts, and a burst of white light shoots from his hand, knocking into Kuroo’s chest and sending him skidding across the floor.

“Kozume-san!” Lev cries, hurrying to Kenma’s side. “Is that the guy? The nightmare guy?”

Kenma nods, his heart once more trying to work its way up his throat. Kuroo gets to his feet, but Mori’s quick with another blast, sending him sprawling once more.

“That’s amazing, Yaku-san! Do it again!” Lev cries, fists clenched in excitement.

Mori gives Lev a withering glance before turning his attention back onto Kuroo. He stayed on the ground after the second hit, and he lifts his hands once more defensively. Mori jumps in front of Lev and Kenma, expecting an attack.

“I’m not going to hurt him!” Kuroo says quickly, shaking his head. “We were just talking.”

Mori frowns, looking back over his shoulder at Kenma. “Is that true?” he asks, his voice sharp.

Kenma tears his gaze from Kuroo to meet Mori’s. He nods, once, and Mori lowers his hand, allowing Kuroo to stand. Lev takes that moment to step forward, standing beside Mori with his arms crossed over his chest like a bouncer at a club.

“What do you want with our Kozume-san?” he demands, scowling as hard as he can, though it’s still not very intimidating.

“I was just apologizing for yesterday,” Kuroo says, glancing around Lev to try and catch Kenma’s gaze.

Kenma quickly looks away, staring at the wall instead.

“He wants nothing to do with you,” Mori says flatly. “We’d all appreciate it if you left him alone.”

“What are you, his mother?” Kuroo asks, a laugh in his voice.

Kenma turns back to frown at him. Kuroo’s grin falters and then disappears as he clears his throat awkwardly.

“I might as well be,” Mori says, crossing his own arms now. “Don’t think I won’t hex you if I see you hanging around him again.”

“I don’t doubt that you will,” Kuroo says genuinely. “However, as well meaning as you may be, it’s up to Kozume himself if he wants me around him or not.”

They all turn to look at Kenma. Immediately he wants to run and hide. He wishes he could teleport. His fingers itch to pull up his hood, but that would simply draw more attention. So he simply fidgets, not knowing what to say. He doesn’t want anything to do with demons. But this nightmare has been plaguing him for weeks now, and he wants to understand it. He wants to know why all this is happening _now_.

He still has that feeling that Kenta and Kuroo are significant somehow. That Kenta is more than a simple paragraph in single textbook. He wants to know why he looks like him. Why Kuroo has returned to this time, to this place.

He wants to know why he feels as though a thin, quivering thread of crimson has appeared, connecting him to Kuroo, despite wanting nothing to do with any of this.

They’re still watching him expectantly, but before Kenma can think of what to say, the school bell rings and everyone from the courtyard begins to make their way inside. In the throng of people that suddenly flood the hallway, Kenma ducks down, flips his hood over his head, and makes his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beethoven's 5th playing in the distance]
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	4. at the end of the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the brevity of this chapter. It's important, though.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

i wanted you to understand right away how committed i am to you . . . that you are the only one.

\-- chelsea cain, _heartsick_

* * *

 

 

>> _hey Kenma, are you going to come over to study tonight?_ (18:45)

 **Kenma-kun  
**_no_ (18:45)

>> _are you feeling okay?_ (18:46)

 **Kenma-kun**  
_i’m fine_ (18:46)

>> _are you lying?_ (18:46)

There’s no response after that. Yaku sighs and sets his phone down on his desk, turning to look at Lev with a shake of his head. Lev deflates, sighing as he flops back on the bed.

“It’s not as fun without Kenma-kun. He always brings his game with him.”

Yaku tries not to let that bother him. He turns back to the open textbook on his desk. “Maybe you’ll actually study for once then,” he says pointedly.

Lev sits up abruptly. “I just don’t get the point of reading up on all this! We practice magic in class and the teachers tell us the right things to say and that’s all we need! I don’t need to know about what some dead guy back in 1542 did when I can just blast magic out of my palm like you did to that guy.” Lev pushes out his hand in imitation of Yaku’s spell, making _wooshing_ noises with his mouth.

Yaku rolls his eyes, hooking his arm over the back of his chair as he turns to look at Lev once again. “It’s important to know the origins of the spells. Without context you could make the same mistakes other witches have and end up dead like them.”

Lev lowers his hands. “I didn’t think about it that way,” he admits. He reaches into his book bag, pulling out his textbook. He looks down at it a moment before sighing. “I just wish it was more fun. Reading is boring.”

Suddenly he looks up, grinning brightly. Yaku doesn’t trust that look, and his fear is confirmed when Lev holds his book out to him with an adorable tilt of his head.

“Read it to me, Yaku-san?”

Yaku sighs. “Why should I read it to you? You can read.”

“Yeah, but I like listening to your voice more.”

Yaku purses his lips, narrowing his eyes at Lev. He’s not sure how he should feel about that. He doesn’t doubt that Lev would say the same about Kenma, but they both know Kenma doesn’t have the patience for something like that. Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t like to speak too much if he can avoid it. Yaku doesn’t have that same issue, so he sighs and picks up his textbook, moving to sit on the bed next to Lev.

He can tell Lev has recently showered, can smell the freshness of his skin and the faint citrus of his hair. Yaku can feel his own skin tingling, heating up at their proximity. Quickly, he pulls his legs up and scoots over to lean back against the pillows. His heart is pounding, but he tells himself to remain calm. It’s not like he hasn’t smelled Lev before. He knows the kid’s family is wealthy and can afford all those fancy soaps and shampoos and colognes. He’s been to their house (which felt weird in of itself). There’s no reason for him to be affected by it.

As he begins to read the assignment for their History of Magic class, Lev turns to face him, crossing his legs and grabbing his feet. His eyes are fixed on Yaku’s face, a tiny grin curling his lips, and Yaku can feel his cheeks heating up at the focus of his gaze. Finally it becomes too much, and he sets the book aside.

“Oh, are we done?” Lev asks, blinking.

“We’re going to practice something else,” Yaku says, swinging his legs off the bed and standing. “Simple levitation. You should’ve already learned about this in your beginner classes.”

“Oh! Yeah!” Lev says excitedly. “I’m awesome at levitation!”

“Really?” Yaku says skeptically. “Show me. Levitate this textbook.” He sets the book on the bed, gesturing to it.

Lev laughs. “I can do better than that, Yaku-san!” he says, pointing to Yaku.

Yaku’s eyes widen. “Don’t you d—”

Before he can fully make his protest, Lev says the incantation, and Yaku finds himself lifting into the air. His stomach flips, and he scrambles to think of a counter spell, but his mind is blank as fear seeps into his core. He hates heights. He’s terrified of falling from them. Of course he’s never _told_ anyone this, but Lev should know better than to just pick people up!

“Look at how good I’m doing, Yaku! Isn’t this great?” Lev exclaims. “I can twirl you too!”

“Put me down right now!” Yaku snaps, breathing heavily as his heart tries to crawl up into his throat.

“But it’s really fun!” Lev says, and he starts to turn his hand.

“ _Lev_!” Yaku shouts, pretty sure he’ll throw up if he starts spinning in the air.

Lev blinks, finally focusing on Yaku’s face and noticing the glare. He sighs. “Okay, okay,” he says, withdrawing his hand.

“No!” Yaku yelps as he starts to fall, and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, bracing for impact.

He never hits the floor, however. Instead, he lands in a pair of lanky arms, pulled tight against a lean chest. He can smell citrus very keenly now, and when he opens his eyes slowly, he finds himself looking into Lev’s face very close to his. Blinking blankly, Yaku stares, breathing hard, as Lev begins to grin.

“I caught you, Yaku-san! That was awesome!”

“Hnrgh.” Yaku’s heart is still thudding quickly in his throat, and he can’t seem to speak.

Lev’s smile disappears, and he bites his lip, looking briefly down the length of Yaku’s body. “It helps that you’re so small,” he observes. “You were easy to catch!”

“Geh!” Yaku punches Lev hard in the chest, causing the taller boy to stumble back. His legs hit the bed, and he falls over onto the mattress with a small cry of dismay. Yaku quickly scrambles out of his arms, moving to straddle him instead, as he grabs a handful of Lev’s shirt to lift him up slightly, glaring down at him.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Lev’s eyes are wide again. “Were you scared, Yaku-san?” he asks softly.

“What do you think?” Yaku snaps, realizing that his hands are shaking.

“You’re trembling . . .” Lev moves his hands, settling them on Yaku’s waist.

That does _not_ help Yaku’s nerves. He quickly gets off Lev’s lap and grabs a pillow, smacking him hard with it. Lev yelps, sitting up and moving away further down the bed.

“You didn’t tell me you were scared of heights!” Lev exclaims defensively, holding up his hands, as Yaku brandishes the pillow again.

“You shouldn’t be levitating people in the first place!”

“But I wanted to show you how good I was,” Lev says, though his shoulders slump now. “I’m sorry, Yaku-san. I won’t do it again. I promise. Don’t be mad?”

Yaku sets the pillow down, picking up his book and walking over to his desk. He sits down with his back to Lev. “Read your assignment.”

“Do I have to?” Lev’s voice comes in a whine, and Yaku spins around to fix him with a glare. Lev flinches, picking up his book dutifully then and opening it.

Yaku turns back to his own textbook, sighing and trying not to think about how Lev’s arms felt around him. How his warm hands felt on his waist. Groaning inwardly, Yaku drops his head onto his book with a soft _thump_. This isn’t good. He can’t be experiencing these types of feelings. It’s not practical, for one. And he’s pretty sure Lev’s obsessed with Kenma, for another.

His phone buzzes. Turning his head, Yaku squints at it, debating whether or not he has the energy for a conversation. In the end, he realizes that it could be Kenma needing comfort or help or something, so he sits up and picks up his phone.

 **Kenma-kun**  
_are you okay? i felt your fear_ (19:51)

Sometimes it irritates Yaku how much potential Kenma is wasting by not applying himself more to his magic.

>> _i’m fine. Lev used me for levitating practice >.<_ (19:51)

 **Kenma-kun  
**_lol_ (19:51)

Yaku snorts.

>> _it’s not funny kenma_ (19:51)

 **Kenma-kun  
**_you guys can come over now if you want. my parents aren’t home_ (19:52)

>> _again? did they at least leave you something to eat?_ (19:52)

 **Kenma-kun  
**_there might be some rice idk_ (19:52)

>> _i’ll make you some chicken_ (19:53)

 **Kenma-kun  
**_you don’t have to . . ._ (19:53)

>> _it’s no trouble Kenma I promise_ (19:53)

 **Kenma-kun**  
_ok . . ._ (19:53)

Yaku turns to look over at Lev. “Pack up. We’re going over to Kenma-kun’s.”

Lev brightens immediately. “Really? He says it’s okay now?”

“Yeah, I just have to make some chicken for him first,” Yaku says, trying to ignore how much Lev’s excitement stings. Really he has no reason to be jealous. He knows he’s boring and uninteresting and prefers books to games and studying to slacking off. It doesn’t surprise him that Lev likes Kenma more.

He just wishes sometimes that Lev wasn’t so obvious about it.

“Do you think he’ll let me play his new game?” Lev rambles eagerly, as he stacks his books in his bag.

Yaku opens his mouth to protest, to remind him that they’ll be studying, not playing, but when he sees Lev’s sunny, ecstatic expression, he can’t bring himself to say that. He leaves his bag on the desk, figuring it’s pointless to bring it, and simply grabs his phone instead, slipping it into his pocket.

“It won’t hurt to ask,” he says, smiling faintly as he makes his way out into the hall.

Lev follows him, babbling on about the cool features this game has and how Kenma’s already great at it, but he’s going to make Kenma show him all his tricks so he can be even _better_.

Yaku listens and lets Lev’s sunshine thaw the knot in his stomach until it’s so small he can successfully ignore it completely.

 

***

 

School nights are usually spent laying around Issei’s room, playing games, surfing the internet, reading, studying, etc. Sometimes they do other things, steamier things, but usually only when Issei’s parents are gone.

(After an unfortunate moment when Issei’s mom walked in on them heavily grinding and making out on Issei’s bed, Hanamaki told him he needed to get his own apartment. But his part-time job doesn’t pay enough for that, so Issei admitted he’s waiting until he gets his hunting license so he can get hired for hunting jobs.)

Right now they’re lounging on Issei’s bed. Issei’s dozing, as Hanamaki lies across his stomach, studying for an upcoming exam. Issei was lightly scratching his back, but now his fingers are still. Hanamaki doesn’t feel bad about nudging him in the side with his elbow, though, when his eyes land on something on the page that catches his interest.

“Issei, Issei, wake up. Look at this.”

Issei lifts his head, opening just one eye to peer down at him. “What?”

Hanamaki sits up, pulling the book up with him and turning it to show Issei the page he's currently on. “You know how Yahaba mentioned the increased demon activity? Apparently that's a sign of the apocalypse. It says that there's a prophecy that a half-demon will open the Hell Mouth, and before that there's supposed to be demons preparing the way for him.”

Issei’s half-asleep expression doesn't change. “You think that's happening now?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “It makes sense doesn't it? Why else would Principal Takeda suspend all hunting assignments?”

Issei shrugs. “I guess. But we shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions when we don’t know all the facts. That’s a good way to get killed.”

Hanamaki squints at him. “Since when do you back out of a perfectly good conspiracy theory?”

Issei blinks at him, grinning faintly. “Well? What do you suggest we do?”

Hanamaki grins. “I’m glad you asked, oh lover of mine. I think we should investigate, of course.”

Issei tilts his head back with a laugh. “Of course you do,” he says, shaking his head then. “I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea, though.”

Hanamaki frowns. “Why?”

Lifting his hand, Issei runs his thumb along Hanamaki’s cheekbone, his touch light, delicate. 

“It could be dangerous.”

“We’re hunters.”

“In training.”

“We have the skill set, we just gotta have some way to apply it.”

“And risk our lives on a theory?”

Hanamaki reaches up to take Issei’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Do you trust me?”

Issei doesn’t hesitate. “You know I do.”

Grinning faintly, Hanamaki leans forward to kiss his boyfriend, gentle and slow, until Issei’s hand moves to his head and strokes long fingers through his short hair. Pulling away, Hanamaki gently knocks his forehead against Issei’s.

“We can’t tell Iwaizumi and Oikawa.”

Issei hums softly, still carding his fingers through Hanamaki’s hair. “Why not?”

“Because Oikawa will take over the whole thing. Micromanage it. And Iwaizumi won’t want us doing it in the first place.” Hanamaki pulls away, tilting his head to the side. “Besides, haven’t you noticed Oikawa acting strange lately?”

Issei’s eyebrows come over his nose with a slight wrinkle. “Yeah . . . I have, actually. You have a theory on that?”

This time Hanamaki shakes his head. “No, it’s just something I think we should look out for. He might be overworking himself again, though if that’s the case, Iwaizumi will probably take care of it. I just don’t want to put more stress on either of them.”

“Look at you, being all considerate,” Issei says with a grin, tugging on Hanamaki’s ear.

Hanamaki swats his hand away, though he can’t help but grin in return. “I don’t know who you think you’re dating, but I’m always considerate.”

Issei laughs. “Right, of course.” He glances at the book. “So how do we go about investigating this prophecy?”

“We should see if it shows up in any other books and check out the status of the Hell Mouth over the last few decades. They should have records of it in the school library.” Hanamaki stands, going over to his book bag to place his textbook in it.

Issei sighs, sitting up completely now. “We’re going right now?”

“It’s not like we can do anything _else_ here,” Hanamaki says pointedly, glancing at the bedroom door.

Shaking his head Issei stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Fine, but you’re paying for dinner.”

“Nah, we’ll invite Oikawa and Iwaizumi at that point and make _them_ pay for it.”

“Now _that’s_ an idea I completely agree with.”

 

***

 

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Kunimi frowns faintly, as he lowers his pistol. The cutouts ahead of him still stand, and although he managed to hit a few, the wounds wouldn’t be critical on an actual demon. He lowers his noise canceling headphones and reloads the gun, sighing softly.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t like Iwaizumi-san,” Kindaichi says beside him.

The faint beginnings of a migraine throb above Kunimi’s right eye. He doesn’t know why he decided to invite Kindaichi along with him to the shooting range. Maybe he thought spending some time together would change something. But all Kindaichi has done is interrogate him on why he seems to hate their senpai. 

It’s growing irritating.

“I don’t not like him,” Kunimi says calmly, lifting his gun again to aim at the head of one cutout. He gauges the distance, thinking he can make this one if he’s careful about it. He fits the headphones back on and fires rapidly at that cutout, thinking at least _one_ bullet should find its mark. He relaxes after a moment, smirking faintly in satisfaction as he inspects the damages.

Two direct hits.

“But you’re always so grumpy when I tutor with him,” Kindaichi says, as soon as he removes his headphones.

Kunimi almost denies being grumpy before guessing that wouldn’t really fly. “I just don’t see the reason why you need a tutor at all,” he admits with a shrug, reloading once more.

“Are you serious? I’m terrible at pretty much everything,” Kindaichi says, staring at Kunimi like he’s grown two heads.

“No you’re not.” Kunimi can think of a few things Kindaichi’s good at. Recognizing weapons and their proper usage, for one, and his reaction time and reflexes are pretty decent. The only thing is he’s clumsy, and his stamina isn’t as great as some of the others in his class. And he’s not great at remembering the different demons, and their attack patterns, which can be dangerous in the field. But he doesn’t need Iwaizumi’s tutorship for that.

Especially when Kindaichi spends most of his time with Iwaizumi staring at him and attempting to flirt so badly, Kunimi’s pretty sure Iwaizumi’s completely oblivious.

Kunimi realizes he’s grinding his teeth, so he quickly relaxes his jaw, turning to hold out his weapon to Kindaichi.

“Your turn.”

Kindaichi’s eyes are wide. “Really? But that’s your favorite gun. I brought my own . . .”

“Yours is shitty. Mine’s better.” Kunimi jiggles it gently until Kindaichi takes it almost reverently.

Kunimi steps back, allowing Kindaichi to take his place in front of the targets. He crosses his arms, watching as Kindaichi takes aim and then empties the chamber. When they check the cutouts, Kunimi’s slightly annoyed to see Kindaichi did better than he.

“Good job,” he says, trying not to sound sullen.

Kindaichi looks at the pistol in his hand, eyebrows rising. “This _is_ a better one,” he says, impressed.

Kunimi feels a swell of pride that trumps his irritation. “Told you.”

Kindaichi grins at him, and Kunimi can’t help the faint twitch of his lips. Before he can fully bring himself to smile back, however, the door to the range opens and a group of boys from Aoba Johsai enter, jostling each other and laughing. Kunimi feels his annoyance return. He takes the gun from Kindaichi, checking to make sure all the ammo is gone before starting to pack it away.

“Oh, are we done?” Kindaichi asks, surprised, picking up his own gun case.

“Is that Kunimi? What are you doing here so late? Don’t tell me you’re _actually_ practicing on your own time.” One of the boys detach from the group, stepping forward with his hand on his hip, leering at the two in front of him. “Did you finally realize that nobody is going to want your lazy ass on their squadron?”

Kindaichi frowns. “Hey . . .”

Kunimi simply blinks, shrugging his shoulders and telling himself to let it go. He doesn’t need a mark on his record for fighting on school property.

“I doubt they’ll want a pansy ass who only advances in his classes because his father’s paying the school either. Yet here we both are.” He lifts his hands to the sides, giving his classmate a placating smile, even as Kindaichi chokes beside him.

The boy narrows his eyes, his gaze flickering to Kindaichi then. The taunting expression from before has disappeared, replaced with something more malicious. Kunimi frowns faintly.

“Shallot-head here shouldn’t even bother practicing,” he says then, lifting his nose into the air. “Everyone knows you’re not good enough to get your license. You should drop out now to save yourself embarrassment.”

Kindaichi’s pales. He takes a step back, looking as though the boy had reached out and slapped him. Kunimi feels a sharp sting of anger and quickly steps in front of Kindaichi, scowling up at the boy’s smug expression. He doesn’t stop to confront him with words, but reels his arm back to deliver a swift punch directly into his classmate’s nose.

The boy stumbles back, blood spurting, as he clutches the wound. He growls, lunging forward to grab Kunimi, but he quickly ducks, grabbing Kindaichi’s hand, his gun case, and sprinting out of the room. Kindaichi is fast, thankfully, so he’s able to keep up with Kunimi, as shouts of outrage follow them out of the building.

“Kunimi-kun!” Kindaichi exclaims once they’re a couple blocks away and nobody has followed them. He stops, pulling Kunimi to a halt. “Why did you do that?” he asks, eyes wide with panic.

Kunimi catches his breath a moment, keeping his face turned to the side. The last thing he needs to see right now is Kindaichi’s concerned expression bathed in the soft yellow glow of the lamps above them. He bends double, letting go of Kindaichi’s hand to place it on his knee. His lungs are burning, and he realizes he should probably start exercising more if he wants to keep up with the rest of his class physically. He’s a whiz at the paperwork, but he hasn’t been cleared for a hunting assignment yet. That requires passing a physical exam, which includes a five-mile run.

He’s been avoiding that exam.

Slowly he straightens, realizing Kindaichi is still watching him with a bewildered frown. Turning away, he shrugs.

“He deserved it.”

“But now you can get in trouble. You could be suspended!”

Kunimi shrugs again, starting to walk once more. He’s not that worried about being suspended. He doubts his coaches and teachers even notice he’s in class most of the time. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if that jerk complains about him to Principal Takeda only to receive a “Kunimi who?” in response.

He hasn’t exactly stood out among his classmates for any specific accomplishments. He honestly only went to Aoba Johsai because he thought being a demon hunter sounded cool. He was ten. He didn’t realize how much actual work was involved. He almost thought about dropping out when he realized how physically demanding the work was.

Then he met Kindaichi.

“Hey!” Kindaichi’s hand touches his shoulder, and Kunimi pauses again, glancing down at that hand until Kindaichi snatches it away quickly.

“It’s not true, you know, what that guy said in there,” Kindaichi says, scuffing his foot against the sidewalk nervously. “I-I mean, I think any team will be lucky to have you. You’re really smart and the best at recognizing demons and their weaknesses. That’s-that’s important, you know?” He rubs the back of his head, smiling somewhat sheepishly.

Kunimi blinks at him, keeping his face a careful mask. He’s not sure what his heart is doing. Maybe tap-dancing.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” he says finally, turning back around and trying to ignore the flush creeping up his neck.

Kindaichi smiles, lowering his hand and rocking back on his heels. “Well, my house is that way,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder.

Kunimi just looks at him. “Okay.”

Kunimi wonders why this is suddenly so awkward. They’ve walked each other home on multiple occasions, but this feels off. It’s like a prickly wall of thorns has grown on the sidewalk between them. He’s never felt so distant from Kindaichi, and he hates it because he’s not sure what to do about it.

_Really smart, huh?_

“Are you okay?” Kindaichi’s watching him worriedly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kunimi asks, rolling his eyes.

“Your hand . . .” Kindaichi looks pointedly at Kunimi’s hand.

He flexes his hand experimentally, hissing softly as the joints protest. It stings more than he anticipated. Suddenly Kindaichi is standing very close, picking up his hand with his free one to inspect the bruising over the knuckles in the dim light. Kunimi’s stomach flips abruptly, and he snatches his hand away.

“I’ll put ice on it. It’ll be fine.” He’s not sure about the rest of him though.

“You should get it looked at,” Kindaichi says, frowning faintly. “I’m not sure you punched him right.” His eyes brighten. “You should ask Iwaizumi-san to tutor you in fighting!”

Kunimi stiffens, his stomach settling as it turns to lead and sinks toward his feet. “Goodnight, Kindaichi,” he says, perhaps harsher than he means to, turning away and briskly making his way up the street.

“Oh. Goodnight, Kunimi-kun.”

The echo of Kindaichi’s soft, perplexed voice follows him all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr/


	5. in dreams i can hear your name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this up for KuroKen day yesterday (01/05), but I was exhausted, aha.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ((there's very brief and mostly vague sexual content at the beginning of this chapter. to bypass it, skip to "He's alone in his room"))

 

 

 

i drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking.

\-- suzanne collins, _mockingjay_

* * *

 

 

This time Kenma can tell he’s dreaming.

The images appear in flashes, ghosts of sensations prickling across his skin. He sees a pair of eyes, dark with longing, feels the trail of fingertips against his hip and thigh. He squirms, uncomfortable yet the touch isn’t entirely unpleasant either. Warm, wet lips press absentminded patterns across his neck and collarbone. Dark hair tickles his nose, and he turns his face away, breathing heavily as his heart pounds rapidly in his chest.

“Kenta,” a voice murmurs, hot breath against the curve of his neck. There’s a scrape of teeth, and Kenma shudders. “I love you. I love you.”

Without his consent, Kenma’s hands appear in Kuroo’s hair, tangling within the strands. He watches them through half-lidded eyes, aware that he’s moving and yet having no control over his limbs. Another flash and then Kuroo’s rocking above him, face twisted with pleasure, teeth biting into his lip. Kenma feels heat surging through his body. He can’t feel the pressure, even though he knows what’s happening, but the fire pooling in his stomach drops lower, and a soft whimper escapes his pursed lips.

“Fuck, _Kenta_ ,” Kuroo moans.

Kenma wants to cover his face with his hands, but he can’t. They’re wrapped around Kuroo’s biceps, fingertips digging into his tanned skin, leaving white impressions. The fire builds, growing in its intensity. Then there’s a spark, an explosion of white behind his eyelids, and Kenma jolts upright.

He’s alone in his room, just like always. The clock beside his bed switches over to 02:30. He’s panting hard, heart hammering away in his chest as though he’s just run a marathon. His hair sticks to face, and his sleep shirt clings to his back. There’s a suspicious damp spot in his boxers too. Groaning inwardly, Kenma drops his face into his hands.

It’s not the first time he’s woken up in such a state, but since the first painfully embarrassing stages of puberty he’s been able to keep it under control. Now he’s a mess, and it’s gross. He’s filthy. Pushing back the covers, Kenma grabs a fresh set of clothes, walking out to the bathroom. He runs a bath without stopping to worry about disrupting his parents. He doubts they’re home yet anyway.

It’s only when he’s clean and back in dry clothes that the anger hits him.

He’s successfully avoided Kuroo at school for the past week, but the guy is pushy and determined, and after that stunt at Keiji’s, Kenma’s not sure he’d put it past him to project such an . . . intimate scene into his head while he’s at his most vulnerable.

The nerve.

Crossing to the window, Kenma peers out, noticing immediately the black cat sitting on the sidewalk at the end of the driveway. Frowning, Kenma storms out of his room, walking downstairs to the front door. He pulls on a pair of shoes and steps outside.

“Go away! Get out of my head!” he hisses at the cat, trying not to wake any neighbors.

The cat looks at him, unimpressed. Kenma glances around for something to throw at the animal. He settles on a clod of dirt, picking it up and hurling it at the cat. It lands several feet short. Kenma’s never been very athletic.

“Go _away_!” Kenma snaps again, as the cat begins to lick its back.

“Who are you talking to?”

Kenma whirls around so quickly he trips, falling back onto the ground with a wince. Kuroo stands in front of him, the expression on his face stuck in an odd mixture of amusement and apology. He’s dressed in the same suit from the first time Kenma saw him outside Keiji’s home, and Kenma feels even more self-conscious sitting there in the dirt in just his blue boxers and sleep shirt with the tiny cats on it.

“Shit, are you okay?” Kuroo asks, losing the twist of a smile and stepping forward quickly, hand extended.

Kenma remembers where that hand had been in his dream and jerks away, scrambling to his feet himself.

“Stay out of my head,” he says sharply, keeping his voice low still. His hands are trembling, so he slips them into the waistband of his boxers at his hips, pressing them firmly against his thighs.

Kuroo follows the movement with his eyes. They widen just slightly, before returning to Kenma’s face. “I wasn’t in your head,” he says.

Kenma frowns. “Yes, you were. You made me a part of yours and Kenta’s sex life. I don’t like that. It made me uncomfortable.” Suddenly feeling too exposed, he pulls his hands out of his boxers to cross his arms tightly over his chest. He shivers, wishing he had his hoodie to hide in.

“I promise I didn’t make you see or do anything,” Kuroo says quietly with such sincerity that Kenma almost believes him. He shrugs out of his jacket, stepping forward to place it around Kenma’s shoulders.

Kenma stiffens, but Kuroo immediately backs away. The jacket is warm, surprisingly, so Kenma doesn’t shrug it off. He curls his fingers around the lapels, pulling it closer around him. It hangs down to his thighs, and Kuroo is watching him again with that curious, hopeful look. Kenma ducks his head, moving to crouch on the ground for no reason other than to try and hide without running away altogether.

He should go back into the house, but his feet feel rooted to the earth. So he makes himself as small as he can, huddled beneath Kuroo’s jacket. He can’t quite escape completely, however, and Kuroo kneels in front of him, tilting his head to try and see past his hair.

“You told me you’ve dreamed about me before,” he says, his voice gentle. “Is it possible you’ve been accessing Kenta’s memories?”

Kenma lifts his head to glare at Kuroo.

“If you are what I think you are, then I think it is possible,” Kuroo admits.

“And what am I?” Kenma asks scathingly.

Kuroo gives him a tiny, sad smile that makes something twinge in Kenma’s chest. “Kenta’s reincarnation. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Kenma stands abruptly, shaking his head. That’s not right. It can’t be right. He’s not Kenta. He’s _not_. There has to be another explanation. But even as Kenma wracks his brain, he can’t think of any. Panic begins to set in him, squeezing his chest. His heart tries desperately to fight against the tightening walls around it, but it can’t.

Kuroo stands as well, watching him worriedly. “Hey,” he starts, reaching out to touch Kenma’s cheek.

Kenma flinches, leaping back. “ _Don’t_ touch me,” he gasps, trying to expand his chest. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want this.

He glances toward Mori’s house. He’s tempted to run over and bang on his door, to hide away in his room, maybe beneath his bed, and wait for morning to come and reveal that this is all still a part of his dream. But he’s afraid of waking Mori’s parents, of receiving a scolding, of the embarrassment that will follow.

So he stands there and trembles, shaking his head. “I’m _not_ Kenta,” he says finally, and he feels himself breathing a little easier at the declaration. He tries it again, louder. “I’m _not_ Kenta!”

Kuroo’s features cringe. “I know you’re not,” he says quietly, turning his eyes toward the ground. He lifts them after a brief second, focusing his gaze straight onto Kenma’s. “But you’re like him. You’re identical to him. You have the same voice, share the same habits. The only thing that’s different is . . .” he trails off, and his throat constricts.

Kenma narrows his eyes, silently daring him to continue.

Kuroo sighs. “Your aura. It’s weaker, paler. That’s how I knew you might not be him when I first saw you. But I still . . . I still hoped . . .” He runs his hand through his hair, mussing it further. (Kenma tries not to remember how soft the strands felt in his dream.) Kuroo plops himself down in the grass, grimacing. “I’m sorry. You probably hate me after everything I’ve put you through.”

_Hate is a strong word. You’re irritating. But I can handle irritating._

Slowly Kenma moves to sit, leaving a comfortable distance between the two of them. Kuroo seems surprised to see him lingering, but Kenma just watches him, curious to know what he’ll do or say next. As terrifying and confusing as this whole situation is, Kenma finds himself again drawn to Kuroo.

Maybe what he says has merit. Not that Kenma is happy about that. He doesn’t like the thought of being compared to someone who lived hundreds of years ago. He’s his own person. He’s not a 2.0 version or upgrade of Kenta. He’s Kenma. Has only ever been Kenma, and will only ever _be_ Kenma.

But he still finds Kuroo fascinating, in a way. Maybe he has answers to what’s going on. Kenma wants to find out . . . from a safe distance.

“It’s been over 600 years,” Kuroo admits slowly, meeting Kenma’s gaze. “I thought I died, but I woke up in hell fused with a demon. I fought my way out, it took centuries apparently, and the first person I see when I step out of that Hell Mouth and feel the warmth of the sun, smell the fresh air, is a boy who has my Kenta’s face. You can probably imagine how shaken I was. I honestly thought you were him. I followed you home. I probably shouldn’t have. I realize that now. I’m sure I terrified you. I’m sorry.”

Kenma blinks. He remembers that day, the day he first felt a presence stalking him. He doesn’t remember being afraid though, more annoyed. Uncomfortable. He went to his grandmother’s shop because he knew it had wards surrounding it to keep evil spirits out.

He studies Kuroo and wonders if he’s evil. He doesn’t appear to be evil, but he _is_ a demon. Or some form of demon. He’s not sure what he means by “fused.”

“Kenta used to do that too,” Kuroo says suddenly.

Kenma realizes several minutes have passed with them simply staring at each other. His cheeks warm, and he ducks his head.

“I’m not doing anything,” he murmurs, poking at the dirt with his finger.

“You were analyzing me. Kenta was always extremely observant. He had quick eyes and an even quicker mind. He was one of the most powerful sorcerers of his time, though he hated the fame it brought him. He always said he preferred to stay at home with a good book rather than travel the country using his magic to fix whatever issue people needed. But he still helped. Because he was a good man. An extremely good man.” Kuroo shakes his head, a tiny self-deprecating smile tilting his lips. “I don’t know what he thought he was doing with a scoundrel like me.”

Kenma leans his head to the side, absorbing that information and remembering the tears that lingered on his face even after the first nightmare subsided.

“He loved you,” he says, sure of that fact.

Kuroo grows still. When Kenma looks more fully into his face, he catches Kuroo staring at him with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. Kenma’s cheeks burn, remembering how those lips felt on his flushed skin, on Kenta’s flushed skin. He looks away quickly.

“I know,” Kuroo says after a moment, his voice sounding thick. He clears his throat, his next words steadier. “I know he did.”

They fall into silence once more. Kenma can’t help but feel sorry for him. He wonders how he got into this mess in the first place. It seems to him that if Kenta was such an incredible sorcerer he should’ve been able to stop a demon from possessing his lover in the first place.

That seems rather callous to say, however, so Kenma remains quiet. The atmosphere between them has grown less hostile. Kenma can feel that keenly. But just because he feels pity for the man it doesn’t mean he’s ready to trust him. He still has no idea what Kuroo wants from him. If he’s convinced Kenma isn’t Kenta, why is he still hanging around? Why is he still attending Nekoma?

And why the hell is he still skulking outside Kenma’s house at three in the morning?

“You should go back to bed. You don’t want your parents to get worried,” Kuroo says, breaking the silence.

Kenma pulls his knees up close to his chest. “They’re not home,” he admits.

Kuroo frowns. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Well, even at eighteen it doesn’t seem right for your parents to leave you alone this late into the night. What if something happens and you run into trouble?”

Kenma smirks faintly. “Like a demon showing up in my front yard?”

Kuroo stares at him a moment before a short, stunned laugh bursts past his lips. “Yeah, exactly,” he says with a wide grin that does something funny to Kenma’s stomach.

Kenma shrugs. “I usually text M-Yaku if I feel like there’s something wrong.”

“Is Yaku the one that attacked me on Monday?” Kuroo asks, eyebrows rising.

Kenma nods.

“He’s feisty for a little guy, huh?” Kuroo’s still grinning.

Kenma looks away. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Who’s the tall one?”

“Haiba. He’s annoying.”

“Yet he’s your friend anyway?”

Kenma can feel Kuroo’s eyes on his face. He pokes at the dirt again, drawing a cat face to focus on something other than the heat of Kuroo’s gaze.

“He means well.”

Kuroo leans back on his hands. “Sounds like you have a good support system.”

Kenma nods, glancing once more at Mori’s house. He reminds himself again that it’s three in the morning, and he shouldn’t bother his friend. Kuroo follows his gaze.

“Does one of them live in there?”

Kenma nods again. “Yaku.”

“Do you want to go see him?”

Kenma hunches further down into the jacket. “I don’t want to bother him this late.”

Kuroo studies him. After a moment he sits up, placing his hands on his knees. “I don’t know if this will help you sleep better or what but . . . I don’t mind staying out here and guarding the house for you. Just keep an eye out until your parents are home.”

Kenma cocks his head. “Isn’t that what you were already doing?” he guesses.

Kuroo blinks back at him, and Kenma wonders if that’s a faint blush coloring his cheeks or a trick of the moonlight. Then he wonders why the thought of making Kuroo blush flusters him. He stands abruptly, shrugging off the jacket and holding it out to Kuroo. He takes it slowly, still watching him. His expression is difficult to read now, so Kenma looks away toward his house.

“Do what you want. I don’t care,” he says aloofly, heading to his door then.

He thinks he hears a soft chuckle behind him, a quiet “Goodnight.” Kenma doesn’t turn back around, but steps straight through his door and shuts it firmly behind him. He mutters a quiet incantation, knowing that his wards probably aren’t very strong but they’re better than nothing.

Surprisingly, despite having a demon lurking just outside his window, Kenma sleeps better than he has in weeks.

 

***

 

It’s his tenth birthday party. His mother did everything she could to make it a happy day for him. She invited his whole class, baked a magnificent cake, and bought him a brand new hat to sit jauntily on his bouncy curls. Little Tooru was so excited. He sat stiffly on the front steps of his house, noisemakers clutched in both hands. His face was bright with anticipation, but as the day went by and none of his classmates showed, he began to droop.

It’s not one of Oikawa’s favorite days. The only thing that made it better was when Iwa-chan arrived, flushed from the run from his house, holding a wrapped box in both hands.

As Oikawa sits on his porch now, clutching those noisemakers, he waits for Iwa-chan, knowing he’ll show up. He always shows up. The hat on his head is too small for him, and he feels ridiculous wearing the same alien shirt and beige shorts he wore that day, but it’s his tenth birthday. This is how it’s supposed to go.

He waits, with the sun beating down on him from high above. He can’t see it, but he can feel the warmth seeping into his skin. It makes him feel sleepy, and he begins to close his eyes.

“Oi, Shittykawa, you can’t sleep through your birthday.”

Oikawa forces his eyes back open, blinking to focus on the young man in front of him. It’s Iwa-chan, looking as he does now, handsome as ever, though he too is wearing his clothes from that day nine years ago: a dark red shirt that complements his bronze complexion and jeans with holes in the knees. He’s not holding the box that contains Oikawa’s gift (a book about space). His hands are empty, and he holds one out to Oikawa with an encouraging smile.

His heart skips a beat.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

Oikawa takes the proffered hand, pulling himself to his feet. Once he’s standing, however, Iwa-chan doesn’t let go, and so neither does Oikawa. It’s like that time they walked home together after the failed werewolf hunt.

He thinks about that time often.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that,” Iwa-chan says, shaking his head.

Oikawa looks down at his outfit. “Excuse you,” he says, tilting his chin indignantly. “These shorts happen to look _amazing_ on me. I mean, look at my legs!” He extends one leg out languidly, watching Iwa-chan’s expression out of his peripheral.

He doesn’t appear impressed.

“I guess, but you can see your tail now.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen. He whirls around, releasing Iwa-chan’s hand to grab at the long, skinny black tail that’s appeared. He stares at it, horrified, then drops it quickly with a shriek.

“No! _No_! I refuse! I refuse to have a tail!” The horns were one thing, and the fangs, but a tail? That was too much. It’s bad enough he’s starting to grow scales.

Iwa-chan laughs. “Don’t be such a baby,” he says. “It’s what you are, isn’t it? A demon tail for a demon boy.”

Something in Iwa-chan’s voice sounds off. He’s mocking him. Iwa-chan teases and taunts, but he never mocks. He’s not cruel in that way. Oikawa narrows his eyes, but Iwa-chan beckons to him, turning to walk away into the trees. Oikawa follows, because what else can he do?

In no time at all they’re at a clearing. It’s their clearing. The one with the tree-fort. Iwa-chan stops in the center of it, glancing around before nodding in apparent satisfaction. He turns to look at Oikawa, grinning and spreading his arms out to the side.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Open it.”

Oikawa’s insides shiver. He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, crossing his arms over his chest, as he takes a step back and shakes his head. “Don’t want to,” he says petulantly.

Iwa-chan’s expression clouds over. He frowns. “Don’t you want your birthday present?” he asks, taking a step closer. “You have to open the box before you can get your present, Shittykawa.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Oikawa says again, raising his voice. “I want to go home. I want to eat cake and read about space.”

His voice sounds small, and suddenly Oikawa finds himself looking up at Iwa-chan. He’s not kneeling or sitting. He seems to have shrunk. He looks down at himself, sees chubby little legs belonging to that of six-year-old Tooru. Screwing up his nose, he fights back tears. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s scared. He wants his mom. He wants Iwa-chan, the _real_ Iwa-chan, not this one that’s leering at him.

Iwa-chan crouches in front of him, reaching out to tap the tip of one of Oikawa’s horns. “He’s going to be very disappointed in you if you don’t open you present, Tooru.”

Oikawa frowns, quickly wiping away the tears. “Who?” he asks, his voice trembling.

Iwa-chan smiles, a mean, nasty smile. “Your father, of course.”

The ground rumbles, rocking back and forth like a seesaw. Oikawa stumbles, falls onto his backside. He blinks, staring at his legs. They’re long and slender once more, thigh and calf muscles strong. He can run away. He can run and never stop. Getting to his feet, he turns to do just that, but the earth beneath him _heaves_ , and he trips backwards, arms pin-wheeling.

A pair of strong arms wrap around his middle, holding him tight. Oikawa knows it’s Iwa-chan, but for the first time ever he doesn’t find comfort in his embrace. He struggles against it, scratching with his nails and kicking his feet.

“Let go! Let go of me!” he yells, but the arms only tighten further.

Iwa-chan’s lips graze against his ear, hot breath sliding against the skin of his cheek. Oikawa shivers.

“Stop fighting it, Tooru. This is what you’re here for. Open it."

“No!”

“Open it!”

“NO!”

The trees turn black. They start melting, as the grass ripples and rolls like waves on the sea. Oikawa continues to struggle, the tears slipping down his cheeks. This isn’t right. Iwa-chan isn’t like this. He wouldn’t do this to him. There’s something else holding him. It looks like Iwa-chan, it smells and sounds like him, but it’s not him. Oikawa knows it’s not him. He knows it deep inside where a dark smoke billows and grows, reaching, claws scraping underneath his skin. It hurts. It burns.

He needs to open his present. It’s his birthday.

He chokes on the smoke as it reaches his neck, spilling out of his mouth in a black cloud that solidifies in front of him, into the shape of a man. It has no face, no features at all, and yet Oikawa can feel it staring at him. He squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the gaze.

“Tooru!”

“No! I won’t! I won’t do it!”

“Tooru! _Wake up_!”

Oikawa opens his eyes. Iwa-chan is kneeling on his bed in front of him, hands grasping his shoulders. His face is pulled tight in that worried frown he wears a lot; the one Oikawa always teases him about, saying he’s going to get premature wrinkles. His features relax once he sees Oikawa is awake, however, and he sighs with relief, sitting back on his heels and releasing Oikawa’s shoulders.

“Thank god,” he says, inhaling shakily.

Oikawa glances around. He remembers now. He invited Iwa-chan over to spend the night. They’d fallen asleep in his room after watching a movie. A tangle of limbs and blankets, Oikawa had been happy while falling asleep. And now he’s shaking and sweaty, and his glamor is probably gone so he looks like an ugly troll in front of Iwa-chan on top of everything else.

_Damn it._

“Don’t look at me, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries, flinging himself back onto his pillow. “I’m hideous.” He flings his arm over his face dramatically; already feeling his heart rate starting to slow, return to normal. Nothing like overreacting to something petty to keep the sick fear in his stomach at bay.

Iwa-chan snorts. “You’ve looked worse,” he says, which isn’t comforting but exactly what Iwa-chan would say.

Oikawa sits up with a pout, carefully arranging his glamor back in place, making sure Iwa-chan only sees the beautiful boy Oikawa wishes he resembled. Iwa-chan’s watching him closely; a flicker of something Oikawa can’t quite read in his dark eyes.

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” he says, as expected.

“What were you dreaming about anyway? It seemed pretty bad.” Iwa-chan glances around the bedroom. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Oikawa follows his gaze.

His desk has moved across the room, his chair flipped completely upside down. The movie and volleyball posters on his walls are ripped, like some animal attacked them with its claws. The scratches are deep enough that the paint on the wall has peeled away as well. His lamp is overturned, his dresser drawers on the floor, clothes scattered about. Basically the whole place is a mess. The only thing left untouched is the bed and the two of them on it, plus the laptop they’d watched the movie on.

Oikawa looks away from the chaos, staring out the window instead, to the sparkling stars far away in the sky. It looks calm out there.

“Tooru.”

Oikawa tears his gaze away to look back at Iwa-chan. There’s that worried wrinkle between his eyes. Oikawa can’t help but smile at the sight of it. He wonders want would happen if he leaned forward and kissed the spot, but he’s not about to get himself whacked in the head for attempting it.

“I was having a perfectly pleasant dream, but then you showed up and ruined it with your face. Have you ever considered plucking those eyebrows, Iwa-chan?”

It’s not true, what Oikawa says about Iwa-chan’s looks. He’s fairly certain Iwa-chan is the handsomest boy he’s ever seen. He’s actually pretty bitter about it. It doesn’t seem fair that Iwa-chan should naturally be so attractive when Oikawa has to use a stupid glamor to be this beautiful.

A vein in Iwa-chan’s forehead twitches. Oikawa recognizes the look and scurries off the bed before Iwa-chan can reach him.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” he growls in irritation, flopping back onto the pillows with a tired sigh.

Oikawa glances around the room once more, taking in the damages. Slowly, he crawls back onto the bed, tucking his head against Iwa-chan’s shoulder carefully. Iwa-chan sighs, but adjusts to make enough room. Grinning faintly, Oikawa wraps his arm around his best friend, clinging to him.

“Will you take me to get new posters tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.

Iwa-chan sighs. “Not if I have to pay for them,” he says.

Oikawa pouts. “But Iwa-chaaaaaan, you’re the one who has a job at the supermarket!”

“I only work like three days a week. And I’m saving for a motorcycle.”

Oikawa gasps, lifting his head to look at Iwa-chan incredulously. “You’d choose a motorcycle over your best friend?!”

Iwa-chan doesn’t open his eyes. “Until you grow wings and can fly me places faster than a motorcycle, then yes.”

Oikawa settles back against him, frowning faintly. Wings might be cool, but on the other hand it’d just lend to the fact that every day he feels like he’s getting further from human. Tentatively he reaches behind him, poking at the top of his ass.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Oikawa snatches his hand back quickly. “Nothing.”

“Were you checking for a tail again?”

Sometimes there are cons to having a best friend who’s known you since you were six. “I can hex you, you know. Give _you_ a tail. Then you’d _really_ look like a monkey.”

“You do that, and I’ll tell Mattsun and Makki about the time you wet the bed.”

Oikawa gasps again, scandalized. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Huffing in defeat, Oikawa moves his arm back around Iwa-chan’s waist, snuggling against his side and closing his eyes. Already he feels better than before, the weight of the nightmare has faded from his chest, barely a twinge. That’s one of the nice things about Iwa-chan. Despite his gruff exterior and mean words, Oikawa knows how much he cares. It makes him feel safe in Iwa-chan’s presence.

He knows his Iwa-chan would never force him to open a present he didn’t want.

And yet . . .

“Iwa-chan?”

“Mmph.”

“Iwa-chan.”

“Shut up, I’m sleeping.”

Oikawa swallows hard, sitting up and looking down into Iwa-chan’s face.

He really is too attractive.

“Hajime.”

That gets his attention. Iwa-chan’s eyes open immediately. He stares up at Oikawa, his eyes dark and quizzical. Oikawa swallows hard, that sick feeling entering him once more.

“I want you to kill me if I become a full demon.”

Iwa-chan blinks, lifting himself up to lean on his elbows. “What the fuck?”

Oikawa bites his lip, but stares straight into Iwa-chan’s eyes, focusing his gaze, his mind, his heart, his everything into the look. Iwa-chan’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly.

“If I become a full demon, I want you to kill me,” Oikawa says again. “You have to promise.”

Iwa-chan swallows hard. Oikawa can see the bob of his throat. With this enhanced gaze, Oikawa can see the beads of sweat lingering on his temples, the pores in his skin, every single long eyelash.

“Like hell I’m promising that.”

“You have to. I don’t want to become evil.”

“You’re not going to become evil. Shut up and go to sleep.” Iwa-chan turns onto his side, his back to Oikawa.

Oikawa can tell he’s angry; he doesn’t blame him for it. But surely he must realize how serious this situation is. Oikawa isn’t a genius, but he’s not an idiot either. He knows about the prophecy. He’s known about it since he was old enough to understand that he was something far scarier and more dangerous than an alien.

But he refuses to fulfill it. He’s not going to let himself bring about an apocalypse.

So really this is just a precaution.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa pokes his friend’s shoulder to no response. “Hajime, please.”

Iwa-chan sighs, sitting up once more to fix Oikawa with a furious glare that actually causes Oikawa to flinch. “I _said_ , shut up and go to sleep.”

There’s no reasoning with Iwa-chan when he gets like this. Oikawa nods mutely, and watches as Iwa-chan flops back around onto his side, his back still facing him. With a sigh of his own, Oikawa presses his forehead between Iwa-chan’s shoulder blades and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t allow himself to fall back asleep, however.

 

***

 

The dream sneaks up on Akaashi. As the rain pelts gently against the window of his room, he frets about Bokuto sleeping in the spare bedroom (his parents’ old room), just a few feet away. He offered the room to his visitor when they realized it was midnight and the weather had turned. Bokuto seemed excited to be staying over, and it was amusing to see him in Akaashi’s sleepwear, which were much too small for him. But Bokuto didn’t complain. He beamed at Akaashi and told him to have a good night and dream about him. He winked. Akaashi felt faint.

And now he’s drifting in that place between sleep and wakefulness, his fingers tingling, itching. He drags his nails across the sheets covering his mattress, wishing to feel skin under his fingertips, the warmth of Bokuto’s broad back. Perhaps it’s impractical to have such thoughts toward someone he’s only just met a week prior, but at the same time he feels as though he’s known Bokuto for some time. The letters started appearing in his mailbox around three months ago, so he guesses that feeling makes sense.

Still, it’s inappropriate, disrespectful even, to fantasize about someone sleeping only two doors down the hallway.

So he clears his mind as best he can, numbs his senses to calm the ache beneath his skin. It works for a time, and he’s able to fall asleep.

The dream starts as normal dreams do. It’s peculiar, a little strange. He’s wearing a wedding dress for some reason. He’s standing at an alter; rows upon rows of faceless spectators sitting before him, as far as his eyes can see. It appears as though the entire world is watching the ceremony. Beside him stands the young man from Sunday, the one with the messy hair and darkness clinging to him. Apparently he’s officiating? Akaashi doesn’t stop to overthink it. He turns away from the man’s smirk, facing his husband-to-be.

At first he can’t see him. His face is obscured by golden light. In fact, that light covers his entire body. He’s a shimmering gold form, with bits of rainbow colors scattered throughout. Blues, greens, purples, pinks, and reds, all mixed in with the brilliant amber. It’s blinding, and Akaashi shields his eyes with his forearm, squinting.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi!” the glistening form says in a voice all too familiar. “What’s with that face? Aren’t you happy to be marrying me?”

Akaashi swallows hard, lowering his hand. “Bokuto-san, I’m afraid I can’t marry you,” he says, as politely as he can. “It’s unfair to you. You deserve better.”

“That’s not even true,” Bokuto says.

He steps forward, and the light around him fades, disappearing into his skin. He grins at Akaashi, his ridiculous hair slicked up in its signature spikes. He’s wearing a white tuxedo with a dark green tie, and somehow Akaashi knows that Bokuto chose that particular color because it matches Akaashi’s eyes.

“Akaashi, I love you,” he says seriously. But that doesn’t make sense. Akaashi’s done nothing to deserve his love. He can’t even touch him.

Akaashi shakes his head again, feeling a sickening drop in his stomach. “I’m sorry, Bokuto-san. I-I can’t.”

Bokuto simply looks confused. He takes another step forward, hand reaching. Akaashi retreats. “But . . . I love you,” Bokuto says, as if that should solve everything.

“Come on, Akaashi,” the man with the messy hair says, still smirking at him. “We came here for a wedding. Don’t make us waste our time. That’s inconsiderate.”

A murmur moves through the crowd. “Inconsiderate,” they whisper to each other. “Disrespectful. Selfish. Unloved. Unwanted. Impure. Tainted. Cursed.” The words swirl around him, growing red, disjointed, angry. He feels them brush against his skin and flinches at the burns they leave.

Bokuto frowns sadly. “Don’t you love me too, Akaashi?” he asks in a small voice.

“I-I . . .” Akaashi can’t speak. The words cut deeper into his skin, slicing him, making him bleed. He cups the stripes on his arms with his hands, attempting to keep the scarlet liquid at bay. He can’t let it stain the dress.

The blood seeps through his fingers, dripping incessantly down onto the white, pristine floor, staining it. The stain grows wider as he continues to bleed, and suddenly he’s in a pool of blood, and he can’t stop the flow. He feels lightheaded, starts to faint.

But Bokuto is there, catching him, holding him close.

“No! Don’t!” Akaashi cries, but it’s too late. Already Bokuto’s skin is turning black, melting away. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, but continues to look at Akaashi with a perplexed expression.

“But I love you,” he says again, even as the blood rises, and his skin dissolves until there’s only a skeleton holding Akaashi. And yet the skeleton continues to say, “but I love you.”

Akaashi wakes with tears on his face. He sits up, burying his face in his hands to catch the sob that escapes. He stays there, trembling, telling himself it was just a dream.

The door to his room creaks open, and Bokuto’s head pokes past the frame. “Akaashi?” he says softly, quizzically.

Akaashi freezes, his hands still over his face. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming in his ears. “Bokuto-san,” he says, lowering his hands slowly. “What are you doing awake?”

“I thought I heard someone crying,” Bokuto admits, stepping into the room. He closes the door behind him, and Akaashi notices that he’s taken off the too-small sleepwear and is just in his boxers. He adverts his gaze quickly, feeling his cheeks heating up.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asks, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

Akaashi scoots away from him slightly, curling his hands into the blankets. “I’m fine,” he lies.

Bokuto reaches toward his face, presumably to wipe away his tears, and Akaashi reels back quickly, his pulse throbbing hard against his throat. Bokuto stills, pulling his hand back.

“Sorry. I forgot you don’t like to be touched,” Bokuto says apologetically. “Kozume’s like that too, isn’t he?”

Akaashi exhales shakily. “It’s . . . it’s not that I dislike being touched, Bokuto-san,” he says softly, figuring it’d be best to tell Bokuto the truth. They’d been spending a lot of time together recently, drinking tea, having dinner, talking about everything and nothing, but one thing Akaashi carefully danced around was the topic of his curse. He didn’t want to lose Bokuto so quickly. He wanted to hold on as long as he could.

But after his dream, after realizing how terrible it would be for Bokuto to fall for him so deeply without knowing the truth of their circumstance, Akaashi realizes it would be cruel to string Bokuto along like this any more.

“My family is cursed,” he begins softly, folding his hands in his lap. He twists his fingers together absently. “I’m not sure when it began, but the first born son of any member of the Akaashi family is cursed. When we reach puberty we experience what’s called The Burning. Our skin feels like it’s on fire. It feels like a hundred volts of electricity are shooting though your veins, and it lasts for over six hours. When The Burning is complete, we can no longer touch another living thing without disintegrating it. It only works on animals and people, not plants. But there’s no known cure. I’ve been studying it for a long time now, searching for one. But the only solution I’ve found is a spell that involves the death of someone very specific. But I haven’t discovered who that someone is, and I’m not sure I want to kill anyone.”

He sighs, looking up finally to look into Bokuto’s face. He’s studying Akaashi closely, not appearing disgusted or afraid at all. When he catches Akaashi’s gaze, in fact, he grins.

“Well! We’ll just have to find another solution then,” he says brightly.

Akaashi blinks, not having expected that type of response. “Bokuto-san, I don’t think—”

“Did you know that most curses in the past were given by faeries? To punish people who did bad things. So wouldn’t it make sense for a faerie to also be able to lift the curse?” Bokuto raises his eyebrows, golden eyes shining in faint light of the streetlamps outside.

Akaashi sighs. “Bokuto, there’s no such thing as faeries.”

Bokuto frowns. “Of course there is. My mother told me about them.”

A faint smile twitches Akaashi’s lips. “A bedtime story. A childish hope.”

Bokuto crosses his arms over his chest. “Why _can’t_ there be faeries?” he demands. “There’s werewolves and demons and vampires and all sorts of bad creatures. Why can’t there be good creatures too?”

“Because all those beings came from the Hell Mouth. Nothing good has ever come from the Hell Mouth, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi reminds him gently.

“Faeries don’t come from Hell Mouths, Akaashi! You’re really smart, so you should know that!” Bokuto exclaims, leaping to his feet in his excitement. Akaashi tries not to stare at his bare chest, turning his head away.

“If they’re real, Bokuto-san, then why hasn’t anyone seen them?” he asks softly, not wanting to get his hopes up on a children’s story. He’s already been hurt enough; can’t Bokuto see that? He never thought the young man could be cruel, yet here he is offering impossible solutions to a very real problem. Akaashi twists his fingers until they ache, letting go then with a sigh.

“I appreciate you attempting to lift my spirits, but it’s late. You should go back to bed. You have classes tomorrow.” He keeps his face turned to the side, staring down at the foot of his bed. His chest feels heavy, and there are tears stinging the corners of his eyes one more, but he purses his lips and forces them back.

“Akaashi, we’re going to beat this, okay?” Bokuto says, tilting his head to try and catch Akaashi’s gaze. “I’m not going to leave you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Akaashi’s face feels hot. He covers it with his hands once more, the images from his dream flashing across his mind’s eye. _Don’t think about it. You’re only going to upset yourself more._

_A future like that is impossible for someone like you._

“Akaashi?”

“Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi lies down, pulling his covers up over his shoulder. He closes his eyes and waits until he hears the click of his bedroom door closing to let his tears escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the angst train! *toot toot*
> 
> ((this was my very first time writing Oikawa's POV . . . gomen /)u(\ ))
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	6. i wanna run away just u and i

 

 

 

a poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

\-- robert frost

* * *

  
  


Bokuto doesn’t understand why people have to be so cynical. They’re so quick to believe bad things, and yet they deny the presence of good. And now it seems as though Akaashi has that same mindset. Bokuto finds himself confused. Why would Akaashi let himself despair over a situation that might easily be remedied?

Bokuto just needs to find some faeries. That’ll convince him.

If only it were that easy.

Bokuto’s spent the last two years, ever since he graduated from high school, researching faeries. He knows people think he’s crazy, that he’s on a hopeless endeavor, but that doesn’t deter him. He knows, he just _knows,_ that they’re real. He can’t explain it, but ever since his mother told him about faeries and how when he was born she was visited by one that blessed him he’s believed. He’s not sure what he’d do with his life if he didn’t, honestly.

That’s why it’s pretty upsetting to find out Akaashi doesn’t believe.

“He’s so perfect,” he complains to his companion as they sit side by side at the bar counter of a restaurant. It’s dimly lit, but he can still see the gold of Kuroo’s eyes gleaming as they look back at him. “I mean, aside from the curse thing. But we can fix that. I know we can.” He sighs.

“Love sucks,” Kuroo laments, nursing his drink. Bokuto’s lost count of how many he’s had. Kuroo explained that because he’s mostly demon he has a higher tolerance than many, but he seems pretty drunk to Bokuto right now. “It really fucking sucks.”

Bokuto tilts his head, contemplating that. “I like being in love,” he says, shaking his head. “It gives me a warm, happy feeling in my chest.” He grins. “I’m pretty sure Akaashi feels the same. He’s just scared, you know? I don’t think he’s ever been in love before.”

“You’re so confident that he feels that way,” Kuroo snorts, languishing across the counter.

Bokuto beams. “Of course I am. I’m awesome. Why wouldn’t he love me?”

Kuroo laughs, a loud guffaw that draws the attention of several patrons. Bokuto smiles back at him quizzically, not getting the joke.

“You don’t think I’m awesome?” he asks, feeling the warmth in his chest starting to fade at the prospect. Although he’s only known Kuroo for a few weeks, he feels like they’ve begun a pretty great friendship. He’d hate to think that Kuroo was just wasting time with him.

“No, you’re pretty great, I’ll admit,” Kuroo says, straightening. “I just think it’s funny. You’ve only known this guy for a few months, and you’re already so convinced you both love each other.” He lifts his glass. “More power to you, I guess.”

Bokuto realizes now that Kuroo must still be bitter about his last encounter with Kozume. “Kozume-kun will come around,” he says encouragingly. “You just have to give him time, that’s all.”

Kuroo blinks at him. “Who said anything about Kozume?” he asks, any semblance of a smile vanished from his expression.

Bokuto scratches behind his ear absently. “Well, you like him, don’t you?”

Kuroo takes a long drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, as he sets down the glass. “He intrigues me. But he’s just a paler version of Kenta. I don’t want or need that. I need to move on.” He taps his temple with a finger. “I’m getting tired of being reminded constantly of that.”

Bokuto doesn’t completely understand how Kuroo’s “whisper friend” works, but he knows enough to cluck sympathetically.

“Is that why you’re here getting drunk?” Bokuto asks curiously. “You’re trying to move on?”

“It’s how I solved my problems 600 years ago, so I don’t see any reason why I should change my habits now,” Kuroo says with a shrug.

Bokuto grins. “I’m surprised Kenta let you do that, I mean, from what you told me of him it seems like he wouldn’t approve of you being drunk off your ass all the time.”

Kuroo shakes his head with a lopsided grin. “He hated it when I drank. But he usually left me to my own devices until I realized I did a stupid thing and came crawling back for his forgiveness.” He pauses then, turning to frown into his drink. “I really didn’t deserve him.”

“But you can be better now. You’ve been given a second chance!” Bokuto says encouragingly. “You know how many people would kill for that? I say you find a thing that makes you happy and take hold of it. Seize the day and all that.” He presses his fist into his palm, nodding.

Kuroo stares at him, tilting his head with a contemplative look. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“At what?” Bokuto stares back at him, startled by the vague compliment.

Kuroo grins faintly. “Cheering people up. You know, I’m really glad I met you. You really are awesome.” He reaches across to lay his hand over Bokuto’s arm.

Bokuto feels his neck and ears heating up, as he looks down at the hand. For a moment he forgets how to speak, not sure at all how to proceed. He lifts his head as Kuroo pulls back his hand and turns once more to his drink.

“Uh,” Bokuto replies intelligently, rubbing furiously at the back of his head. “Yeah, I mean, I know I am.” He grins, pretty sure something in the atmosphere has changed but not entirely sure what. Kuroo’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, a half-lidded gaze that makes Bokuto feel nervous.

“Just stick with me,” Bokuto says, louder in an attempt to cover for his momentary speechlessness. “I’m the best friend you’ll ever find.” He jabs his thumb into his chest.

“I don’t doubt that at all,” Kuroo says with a soft chuckle.

Bokuto turns back to his own drink, not sure why it feels like a million ants are crawling over his skin. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but it’s not exactly something he’s used to either. Suddenly realizing something, he turns quickly to stare at Kuroo with wide eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asks, incredulous.

Kuroo laughs again, and this time it’s genuine. Bokuto’s face burns, as Kuroo swivels in his seat to grin at Bokuto. “Yeah, I am,” he admits. “Is that okay?”

Bokuto stares at Kuroo, not sure what to say. He feels like he’s overheating. Standing abruptly, he gestures vaguely in the direction of the toilets. “I’m gonna—I’LL BE RIGHT BACK.”

He rushes over, opening the door and closing it behind him. He locks it, leaning against it a moment, pressing his hand to his chest where he can feel his heart attempting to escape. With shaky fingers, he pulls his phone from his pocket. 

“Hey, hey, Akaashi?”

“Bokuto-san. Are you okay?” Akaashi’s voice slides over him like a soothing wave of cool water. Bokuto loves that voice so much. He loves Akaashi so much.

And yet . . .

“Fuck Akaashi, I don’t know,” Bokuto admits, running his free hand through his hair. “I’m at the bar with Kuroo, and he’s hitting on me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to cheat on you—”

“Bokuto-san, we’re not together.”

Bokuto’s brain grinds to a halt. He blinks at his reflection in the mirror above the sink across from him. He can see his startled expression, the way his eyebrows jump toward his hairline, the way the light catches in the gold of his eyes, making them gleam. He looks a little unsettling, but then again he feels unsettled.

“We-we’re not?”

Akaashi sighs. “We’ve never talked about it. I’m interested in you; I believe I’ve made that clear enough. However I don’t believe a relationship is something we can pursue. You wouldn’t be satisfied with someone like me.”

Bokuto can feel his indignation rising quickly. He jolts off the door, standing straight.

“That’s not true! I’d be satisfied—”

“Bokuto-san, we can’t touch. There’s no way for us to have a fulfilling physical relationship . . .”

“I don’t care about that!” Bokuto blurts, his neck and ears feeling hot. That’s not entirely true, however. He wants to touch Akaashi. He thinks about it all the time. Not even in only in a sexual way. He wants to hug him, hold him tight against his chest. He wants to grab his hand, lace their fingers together. He wants to stroke his face, trace the lines of his features to memorize every dip and curve.

He wants this so badly his chest aches. But he doesn’t want to make Akaashi feel worse than he probably already does.

Akaashi remains quiet for a few seconds longer. Briefly Bokuto wonders if they’ve lost connection. He’s just about to check his service when Akaashi sighs again.

“You will care. Eventually. Bokuto-san, I’m sorry. I greatly enjoy your company, and I hope we can remain friends. But if you’re interested in Kuroo-san, then you should pursue him. Don’t let me hold you back from happiness.”

_But I’m happy with you . . ._

He doesn’t say it. He presses his lips together, attempting to hold back everything he’s feeling, though it’s difficult. Does he enjoy spending time with Kuroo? Yes, the guy is fun and interesting and makes Bokuto feel good about himself. And it helps that he’s hot as hell too. But Akaashi . . .

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi’s voice is gentler now, and Bokuto shivers as it caresses his ear. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. Please don’t feel that way. I want to continue seeing you.”

The weight on Bokuto’s chest eases slightly. He leans his head back against the door, staring up at the water stains on the ceiling. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto can hear the smile in his voice. “But you deserve to feel good, so I won’t be upset or angry if you decide you want to have a relationship of some kind with Kuroo-san.” 

Bokuto chews on his lip; glad to hear Akaashi won’t be angry at least. “Can I come over tonight?” he asks hopefully.

Bokuto thinks he can hear the smile in Akaashi’s voice as he replies, “Of course Bokuto-san. You’re welcome any time.”

 _I love you_.

He almost says it. Again the words are on the tip of his tongue. But he knows that won’t help matters. That would only complicate things further. So he bites them back, swallowing hard and nodding even though Akaashi can’t see him.

“I’ll talk to you later, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says quietly then.

He hangs up before Bokuto can reply. With a heavy sigh, Bokuto slides his phone back into his pocket, exiting the room to return to the bar. Kuroo’s holding another drink and when he looks over at Bokuto he’s no longer smiling.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says. “That wasn’t my intention. I know you’re in love with Akaashi, and it’s not my place to—”

Bokuto moves before he really knows what he’s doing. He wraps his hand around the back of Kuroo’s neck and leans forward, pushing their lips together. He can tell instantly that his inexperience shows. He’s never really kissed anyone before. He’d hoped his first real kiss would be Akaashi, but he supposes it being Kuroo isn’t so bad. Especially when Kuroo overcomes his shock and reaches up to curl his fingers into Bokuto’s hair. His lips guide them into a better rhythm so Bokuto is no longer pressing too hard. 

Kuroo’s lips are soft, wet from his drink, and Bokuto tastes the burn of alcohol on his tongue as Kuroo’s nudges his mouth open to slip inside. Bokuto trembles, a host of sensations he’s never before experienced shivering through his body. There’s heat burning deep inside him, low in his stomach, and when Kuroo pulls away after what feels like hours, Bokuto feels somewhat lightheaded.

“Bo?” Kuroo’s gaze is questioning, almost tentative.

Bokuto swallows hard, gripping the edge of the counter for support. “I still love Akaashi,” he says firmly.

“Okay . . .”

“But, um, I talked to him and he doesn’t mind. And I like you. You’re hot, and I want to be more experienced when me and Akaashi can finally touch.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “So you want me to teach you?” he asks, his lips twitching.

Bokuto nods. “I think you’d be a good teacher,” he admits with a breathless grin. “That, um, that was my first kiss.” He rubs the back of his neck.

Kuroo picks up his drink, downing it quickly. “Let’s go to my place,” he offers, as he stands. “There’s a lot to learn, my young apprentice.”

Bokuto follows Kuroo out of the bar, still feeling a little dazed. He’s not sure what he’s feeling. His skin is tingling, and he feels like grabbing Kuroo’s hand, though he doesn’t. Is this how he’ll feel after kissing Akaashi? Or will it be even _better_? He can’t help but grin at the thought.

“Hey, hey, Kuroo,” Bokuto says, jogging to catch up when he notices that he’s fallen behind. “You don’t mind this, do you? I mean, I know you’re still getting over Kenta and everything . . .”

Kuroo rolls his shoulders back. “It’ll be a good distraction,” he says, glancing over at Bokuto then with a grin. “It’ll be fun.”

Bokuto inhales deeply, letting the air out in a huff. “Okay,” he says, grinning back at him.

_Just wait Akaashi, when we break your curse I’m going to be the best fucking kisser in the world._

 

***

 

Kuroo knew drinking all that alcohol would end up being a mistake. When he wakes the next morning his headache pounds sharply against his skull. Groaning, he smashes his face further into his pillow.

_[you realize you have school today.]_

_Fuck off._

_[it’s your own fault for enrolling.]_

Kuroo flips off the air, sitting up on his elbows then and blinking blearily at his alarm clock. It’s glaring the numbers 09:34, which means he’s already missed an hour of classes. There’s no point in rushing now. He’ll charm the principal; tell him he was sick. He certainly feels ill.

Turning over onto his back, he folds one arm over his face, sighing deeply. He tries to remember all that happened the previous night. He can recall drinking heavily with Bokuto at the bar, and he’s fairly certain that the night ended with making out and grinding on his couch. It’d been a good time, until Bokuto told him he had to go see Akaashi and Kuroo was left alone in his apartment, drunk off his ass and aching for a smaller body to hold.

_[kenta isn’t coming back. just forget about him.]_

Groaning, Kuroo heaves himself off the bed, stumbling out of his bedroom and into his kitchen to make himself some coffee and take some painkillers. As the coffee brews, he looks out the glass patio doors to the city skyline. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now. He fought his way out of Hell to get back to Kenta, not realizing so much time had passed. And now he’s here in the twenty-first century, and Kenta’s gone.

Kuroo turns away from the view, picking up his mug and making sure it’s rinsed out before pouring his coffee into it. Kozume shares so many characteristics with Kenta, but there are differences. He’s much more self-conscious for one. Kenta never shied away from confrontation when it needed to happen. Although he preferred peace and quiet, Kenta often joined Kuroo at the taverns he liked to frequent, making sure Kuroo never drank too much and laughing easily among their friends.

Kuroo wonders if Kozume even knows how to laugh.

Sipping on the hot coffee, Kuroo hops up onto the kitchen counter, kicking his feet idly. There’s no denying that he still feels drawn to Kozume, however. The boy fascinates him, and he’s curious to know why he’s attending a magical institute when he doesn’t seem to have any interest in fighting demons.

Kuroo wants to know if Kozume cares about anything. He wants to know if he’s truly as weak as he appears.

_[you just want to spend more time with him because he looks like kenta. you’re not interested in him as a person. you just want to recreate a relationship you lost. don’t lie to yourself.]_

Grimacing, Kuroo gulps down another drink of coffee, ignoring the burn of the liquid against his tongue and throat.

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” Kuroo says aloud, then wonders why he feels the need to be considerate toward Kozume’s feelings.

Maybe he does like the kid. A little.

 

He arrives at the school during the lunch hour, dressed in the Nekoma uniform with his signature smirk pasted on carefully. This tends to give him a wide berth, as many are still skeptical over his mysterious appearance. He ignores the whispers that follow him, as he makes his way over to the table that Kozume shares with Yaku and Haiba.

“Yo,” Kuroo says, slinging his legs over the bench one by one to sit across from them.

Kozume doesn’t lift his head, but both Yaku and Haiba glare at Kuroo from either side of him.

“What are you doing here? I thought we told you to leave Kozume-kun alone,” Yaku says flatly.

Kuroo has to admit that for his small stature the guy is somewhat intimidating. He rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’m free to sit wherever I want, aren’t I? Besides, who says I’m here to talk to Kozume? Maybe I want to get to know Haiba a little better.” He shoots the tall kid a wink that has him blushing from neck to forehead.

“E-Eh?!”

Yaku’s scowl darkens considerably, and Kozume’s brows wrinkle faintly.

“Pardon my language, but you can fuck right off, Kuroo-san,” Yaku says, lifting his hand to face his palm toward Kuroo. “Don’t think I won’t hex you right now.”

Kuroo’s not exactly in the mood for growing polka dots or having bats fly out of his nose, so he stands quickly. “Okay, okay. I can see when I’m not wanted. I’ll go. But I missed this morning’s classes so it’d be cool if I could get a copy of your notes.” This he directs to Kozume. He watches closely, as Kozume’s lips purse slightly, but he still says nothing.

Reaching into his pocket, Kuroo pulls out a piece of paper he wrote on this morning before leaving. He slides it across the table toward Kozume, ducking down to try and catch his eye. “This is my address. You can come by later to drop them off.”

Yaku snatches the paper from him, crumpling it immediately. “Like hell he’s going to do that.”

But Kozume lifts his gaze then, meeting Kuroo’s with a blank expression. Kuroo tries not to let himself be physically affected by the look, but his stomach drops as he stares into the shimmering gold of Kenma’s irises. There’s heat in that gaze, though Kuroo can’t tell if it’s hatred or something else entirely. Either way, it leaves his insides quivering, and he almost reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Kozume’s ear, almost crosses that line just to see Kozume react.

_[you crave his attention that badly?]_

Kuroo swallows hard, shifting his eyes away. He looks up at the sky, noting the dark clouds gathering. “Looks like rain,” he says absently. When he looks back down, all three of them are watching him, Kozume still with that impassive look, Yaku still glaring, and Haiba fidgeting, still red. He gives them a smirk and waves. “Remember to bring an umbrella when you stop by Kozume-kun.”

He turns to leave then, his heart hammering in his chest.

_[you know he’s not going to come over.]_

_I know._

 

It does rain. Hard, angry pelts of water hit the sidewalks and streets like they have something to prove. Thunder crashes, rolling across the sky, accompanied by bright, jagged flashes of lightning. Kuroo’s fifteen beers into the night, as he stands staring at the trees whipping back and forth in the wind through his patio window. He checks his phone, but the only messages are from Bokuto, who incidentally is the only one who has his number. The last message he received was a selfie of him and Akaashi huddled on Akaashi’s couch wrapped in blankets holding mugs of hot cocoa. The caption read “movie night!!! you should stop by!”

Kuroo briefly contemplated it, but he doesn’t feel like intruding on Bokuto’s time with Akaashi. Besides, some part of him foolishly hoped that Kozume would still stop by with homework. But of course he didn’t, and so Kuroo began to drink.

“Kenta loved thunderstorms,” Kuroo muses aloud. “He said it was nature’s way of cleaning house, making things fresh for the morning.”

He wonders if Kozume feels the same.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s gone from the apartment and standing outside Kozume’s house, instantly drenched, his hair flattening to his face as he shivers. He blinks, wondering what just happened. Had he unconsciously transported himself to Kozume’s home just after thinking about him?

He’s drunk.

And wet.

Grimacing, he turns away from the inviting light emanating from the windows, trying not to think of how nice and warm it might be inside. He closes his eyes, picturing his apartment. But when he opens his eyes again, he’s still standing in front of the house in the rain, thunder seeming to shake the ground beneath his feet. Turning, he jogs up the path to Kozume’s door, knocking on it insistently. There’s no way he’s going to walk home in this deluge.

When the door opens and Yaku scowls up at him, Kuroo’s afraid he landed in front of the wrong house.

“Absolutely not,” Yaku says, before Kuroo can even open his mouth.

“I just want to get in from the rain,” he says, glancing over Yaku’s shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of Kozume.

“Kozume-kun is stressed out as it is,” Yaku says, his patience wearing thin. “He doesn’t need you coming in here and causing him more anxiety.”

Kuroo blinks rainwater out of his eyes, flipping his hair out of his face with one hand. “Anxiety?”

Yaku sighs. “He’s terrified of thunderstorms, and your presence is just going to make things worse.”

Kuroo’s not sure why there’s a faint spasm of something akin to hurt in his chest at these words. He swallows hard, shaking his head.

“I won’t cause any trouble, I promise. I just want to get dry. Here, I’ll make myself less intimidating.” He holds up his hands, before shifting down into his cat form, something that’s easy despite his intoxicated state. His clothes fall in rumpled, wet piles on the floor, and he steps out of them gingerly. He looks up at Yaku then hopefully.

His lips are pursed, and Kuroo can tell he’s struggling.

“Close the door; you’re letting the cold in.” Kozume’s voice comes from the living room past the hall.

Yaku grumbles something under his breath that Kuroo doesn’t catch, before stepping back and gesturing for Kuroo to come inside. He does so quickly, shaking out off his legs as best he can before sneezing. He’s still soaked, and he wonders if Yaku is going to leave his clothes out there or bring them in to dry.

He leaves them. Closing the door, Yaku disappears down the hall. Kuroo isn’t sure how far he should venture into the house. He’s tentatively stepping forward when Yaku returns with a large towel. He drops it over Kuroo, before picking him up unceremoniously.

Kuroo hisses in reply, but Yaku appears unimpressed. “Shut up. I’m not having you track water all over the place,” he snaps, walking into the living room with the bundle of Kuroo in his arms.

Kozume’s lying on the floor, all but his shoulders and head hidden beneath a kotatsu table. In his hands is a gaming device, and he doesn’t look up from it as Yaku enters with Kuroo.

“Your stalker decided to pay us a visit,” Yaku says, kneeling on the floor and dumping Kuroo out of his arms. He doesn’t let him escape though, but roughly begins drying him off with the towel. Kuroo yowls in protest, the scratchy feeling of Yaku rubbing his fur the wrong way irritating him. 

Kozume glances up briefly from his game before shifting his eyes back.

“Do you mind? I figured he wouldn’t leave us alone anyway if I left him out there,” Yaku says, finally releasing Kuroo.

Kuroo scurries out of reach, hopping up onto the couch and taking a seat, glaring at Yaku from his perch. Kozume doesn’t reply, and Kuroo watches his shoulders flinch as another boom of thunder sounds. Yaku’s instantly by his side, gently running his hand over Kozume’s head. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he murmurs.

_[another difference between kenta and this one.]_

_Yeah . . ._

Kuroo’s chest aches, though he’s not sure why. Jumping off the couch, he circles around to lie down in front of Kozume. He watches him, the glow of the screen illuminating his pale face. He wishes he could say something, anything, but in his cat form all he can make are cat noises, and he doubts they’ll be comforting.

Kozume lifts his eyes from his game, meeting Kuroo’s gaze. He looks at him silently, his face a mask, as Yaku continues to stroke his hair. The lights flicker, as another loud clap of thunder rattles the windows. Kozume’s features twitch, and Kuroo doesn’t miss the way his throat constricts, the way his knuckles are white against his gaming device. Carefully, Kuroo moves closer, nudging his head against Kozume’s hand. For a moment nothing happens, then very slowly Kozume’s hand relaxes around the game, allowing Kuroo to duck beneath it, pressing up against Kozume’s palm then. Kozume’s fingers twitch, but then he begins to run them lightly down Kuroo’s head and neck to his shoulders and back.

Kuroo purrs, leaning into the hand. It feels nice, comforting, and he thinks he catches Kozume’s lips curving in what might be a smile. Yaku doesn’t yell at him, so Kuroo curls himself into a ball in front of Kozume, close enough for him to continue petting him, which he does.

Kuroo’s heart pounds quickly in his chest, as he struggles to relax. Maybe it’s just because he’s drunk, but he feels good. Really good. Like he could stay here forever beside the warmth of the kotatsu with Kozume’s fingers in his fur.

_[you’re a fool.]_

Perhaps he is. But that won’t stop him from enjoying this moment. And as he closes his eyes, he imagines Kenta’s fingers moving through his hair.

 

***

 

Iwaizumi stares out at the rain as it pounds against the wood of the fort. He shakes his head, kicking absently at his pack next to his feet. Tooru is sitting on the floor behind him, humming absently as he sharpens one of his knives.

“I told you it was going to rain,” Iwaizumi says, turning from the window to sit down against the wall. He pulls his legs up underneath him, crossing them as he watches Tooru work.

“Don’t mind,” Tooru says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’ll pass.”

“Sure, but in the meantime I’m stuck in here with you,” Iwaizumi grunts, thinking it’s way too small in the fort for this. If he was to stretch out his legs they’d have to cross over Tooru’s to fit. Thankfully he’s not cramping up just yet, but if the storm continues for several hours they might have to just chance things and run home.

“Don’t be mean, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, sticking out his tongue as though he’s six years old again.

Iwaizumi sighs, leaning his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he listens to the rain and thunder outside. The wind shakes the tree, making the tree fort creak and groan in protest, shuddering.

“This thing isn’t going to hold,” Iwaizumi comments idly, eyes still closed.

“It will. I’m strengthening it.” Tooru says this in such an off-handed way, that Iwaizumi doesn’t realize the implications at first.

He opens his eyes, frowning as he notices the strain in Tooru’s features. Leaning forward, he glares across at his best friend. “You mean you’re using your magic to hold this thing together?” he asks, his words coming out more forcefully than he meant them to.

Tooru looks startled by the change in tone. “Yes? I’m not going to let this thing fall with us in it, Iwa-chan!”

“Don’t overwork yourself, dumbass,” Iwaizumi growls, moving into a crouch. “If this is going—”

A loud shriek interrupts him. He pauses, growing still as the shriek sounds again, this time half-swallowed by the next crack of thunder.

“Is that—?”

Tooru purses his lips, his hand tightening around the handle of his knife. “Imp,” he says with a nod. “I can feel it.”

Cursing under his breath, Iwaizumi reaches into his pack, drawing out his crossbow. Of all the times to go practice in the woods, of all the days to be stuck in a tree during a tropical storm, of course imps had to appear as well.

“How many of them?” he asks, fitting an arrow to the bow.

Tooru tilts his head to the side. “I only sense the one for now. But it’s getting closer.”

Iwaizumi nods, turning to face the window, peering out at the moving trees, the heavy sheet of rain. He can’t see anything, the trees too dense, the clouds too dark. He squints, setting his crossbow on the windowsill, balancing it as he tries to see down the length of it to aim. Suddenly Tooru’s beside him, crouching just behind him, with one hand on his shoulder. The other hand moves beneath Iwaizumi’s arm, lifting it to help him aim the crossbow.

“Aim between those two trees. A little to the left. There. Now, on my count,” he says, his breath sliding across Iwaizumi’s ear.

Iwaizumi shivers involuntarily, all too aware of the strong fingers pressing into his wet shirt, warming his skin. He finds himself closing his eyes, feeling his heart beginning to pound in cadence with Tooru’s own, as he feels it pulsing against his back.

“One.”

Tooru’s heartbeat quickens.

“Two.”

Iwaizumi’s races to meet it.

“Three!”

Iwaizumi opens his eyes and pulls the trigger.

There’s another shriek and a dark shape falls from the sky into the clearing, landing with a thud against the ground. Iwaizumi quickly lowers his crossbow, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Holy shit,” he gasps.

Tooru’s hands are still against him, his face centimeters from Iwaizumi’s. If he turns his head right now they’d be close enough to kiss. Ears burning, Iwaizumi quickly stands, brushing Tooru’s hands off him as he does.

“Let’s get out of here. Where there’s one imp there’s probably more behind it.”

Tooru looks like he’s about to protest, when multiple shrieks fill the air. He stiffens, biting his lip white, as he turns toward the window.

“I think . . . I think they’re here for me,” he says in a soft voice, half muted by the thunder clapping above them.

“What?” Iwaizumi shouts, wondering if he misheard him. He grabs his pack, flinging it over his shoulder, before pressing Tooru’s knife into his hand. “Come on, we’ve got to go! Stay beside me!”

He forces open the door in the floor that leads to the ladder. He grimaces as he notices that the ladder is gone, probably swept away by the wind. He lifts his gaze to fix Tooru with a glare.

“You couldn’t keep the ladder intact too?” he demands.

Tooru pouts, even now. “Excuse me for trying to keep us _alive_ , Iwa-chan. If you think you can do a better job, _you_ do it next time.”

“Fuck, I’m trying to do that _right now_!” Iwaizumi exclaims. He glances down the hole in the wood, hearing the incoming screeches of the imps, knowing that they’ll be surrounded soon if they don’t start moving. It’s a long drop, but he thinks he can make it without causing too much damage to his person.

“Wait, Iwa-chan!” Tooru grabs his arm before he can jump. “I should go first! I’ll catch you!”

Iwaizumi pulls his arm away. “No way; you’ll drop me.”

Tooru gasps, affronted. “I cannot believe—”

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait for Tooru to finish. Instead, he jumps, tucking into a roll as he lands. He feels something give in his ankle and hisses in pain, but he jumps to his feet immediately, gesturing for Tooru to jump.

“Let’s go! They’re getting closer!”

Tooru bites his lip, glancing down at Iwaizumi and then toward the window. Iwaizumi turns, a curse already on his lips. About a dozen black shapes, wings veiny like bats’, with claws like birds and the heads of trolls come flying toward them. Iwaizumi drops the pack off his shoulder, realizing that it’s too late to run now, and pulls his crossbow out once more.

He stands beneath the swaying tree, shooting arrow after arrow into the sky. Some of them find their mark, but most fall short or are swept away by the wind and the imps continue to advance, their shrieks ringing in his ears, making him flinch. He knows better than to cover his ears, however, because that’s when you’re vulnerable. That’s when they strike.

He keeps his head up, holding an arrow in each hand as they descend. He hears one screech of “IWA-CHAN!” before he’s surrounded. He twirls away from the first set of claws, stabbing quickly with his right hand, deep into the chest of one imp, leaping over it as it falls to stab another.

It’s loud, terribly loud, with the thunder still rumbling and the imps still shrieking. Iwaizumi’s afraid of his ears beginning to bleed, but he fights past the pain that’s throbbing against his skull, never slowing in his movements. He flows like water, in and out of the imps, relying on his instincts and training to maneuver through them. He tries to draw them away from the tree fort, away from Tooru, but in the end it doesn’t matter, because one minute he’s fighting alone and the next he feels Tooru’s presence at his side.

Tooru’s wielding his knife, slashing and stabbing with finesse, his face pale yet set in an expression of grim determination. Iwaizumi can’t help but grin, his teeth clenching. The two of them fall into sync. When Iwaizumi goes low, Tooru slashes high, and vice versa. They twirl around each other like a dance, footsteps marking a pattern in the mud. More and more imps fall, though not without their revenge: Iwaizumi’s sporting several scratches along his sides and arms, and Tooru’s bleeding from a cut across his cheek.

But finally, _finally_ the last one falls, its shrieks dying into echoes that fade into the rumble of the thunder that’s moved into the distance. The rain still falls, but less heavily, leaving the two of them drenched yet victorious. They stand among piles of bodies that slowly begin to disintegrate, bits of black peeling way to vanish in the wind. Iwaizumi inhales deeply, fatigue beginning to set in. He registers the pain in his ankle and grimaces, shifting his weight to relieve some of the pressure.

Tooru’s eyes catch everything though, and he whirls to stare at Iwaizumi.

“What hurts?” he asks.

“Ankle,” Iwaizumi says, shaking his head. His ears are still ringing, and Tooru's voice sounds teeny, but when he reaches up to check them he doesn't find any blood. “But it’s fine. I’m fine.” He grins then. “We did it. We fought demons and won. We didn’t even need to be supervised.”

Tooru blinks at him a moment, before he grins back at Iwaizumi. “That’s because we’re amazing, of course.”

He lifts his fist, and Iwaizumi bumps his against Tooru’s with a soft laugh. Tooru’s beaming; the high of the win making him practically glow with satisfaction and pride. It’s a good look on him.

_He’s beautiful._

Iwaizumi clears his throat, not sure where that thought came from. He turns away from Tooru, going to collect his arrows from the ground, left behind as the bodies disintegrate. He knows better than anyone that the visage he sees in front of him is only a disguise Tooru wears to hide his true image. But even so . . .

“Hey,” he says suddenly. “Drop the glamor for a second?”

Tooru, who’d been in the process of wiping his knife clean on the wet grass, freezes, looking startled. “What?”

“I want to see you.” Iwaizumi’s heart is stuttering, though he’s not sure why. It’s not out of fear, so what is it?

Tooru stares at him for a moment, before pursing his lips and looking away. “No, you don’t.”

Iwaizumi sighs, wondering why Tooru has to be a big baby about everything. He stuffs the arrows he collected back into his bag, before crossing over and nudging Tooru’s leg gently with his foot, despite the sting in his ankle at the movement. “Yeah, I do. There’s no one here. I just . . . I want to know what you look like with that expression.”

“Expression?”

Iwaizumi sighs, realizing that this is taking more effort than he’s willing to give. He doesn’t want to admit that he desires to know how Tooru looks in his true form after a fight, if that triumphant look still shines beautifully or if his demon features taint it. Perhaps it’s a selfish thing to ask. He turns away, hefting his bag up over his shoulder.

“Never mind. Let’s get home. Your mom is going to kill us.”

He’s only limped a few steps when he hears a soft, “Iwa-chan.”

Turning back, Iwaizumi blinks as Tooru removes the glamor, revealing his horns, fangs, the single red eye, and the markings on his face and neck. Iwaizumi stares, not liking how self-conscious Tooru looks, shifting from side to side like he’s afraid Iwaizumi will run away screaming.

“Don’t look like that,” he grunts, stepping over to Tooru. He presses his fist to Tooru’s chest, giving him a faint smile. “We just won a battle. Where’s your pride?”

Tooru’s lips twitch upward. “We did pretty great, huh?”

“We did _awesome_. You said so yourself.”

Tooru laughs, and there it is. That look. That prideful, arrogant “I’m the best” look that’s equal parts gorgeous and irritating. Even with the demon features. Iwaizumi can see his best friend as clearly as he had before. It’s not that he doesn’t notice the markings, horns, and fangs anymore. It’s not as though they disappear. It’s just that he doesn’t care that they’re there. It doesn’t matter that they’re there, because Tooru is his best friend no matter what he looks like.

“Actually, Iwa-chan, I said ‘amazing’—”

Iwaizumi kisses him.

He wasn’t planning on it. He’s not sure how it happened either. But one second he’s staring at Tooru, and the next he’s pulling away with his lips tingling. Tooru’s stunned silence follows the gesture. His eyes are wide with shock, mouth agape. Iwaizumi flushes, turning away quickly.

“That’s for not dying,” he says gruffly. “Next time, listen to me when I tell you we have to go.”

He begins walking, careful of his ankle, so not able to escape as quickly as he’d like.

Tooru’s at his side a moment later, glamor back in place. He tosses his head with a laugh. “But Iwa-chan, those imps never stood a chance against us.”

“It might not be imps next time.”

“We can handle it.”

“Don’t get cocky. We’ve still got room to grow.”

“You’re the one who wanted to see me triumphant!”

“Now I regret it. Shut up.”

Tooru laughs again, and Iwaizumi has to stifle a grin. He’s glad Tooru is acting like nothing happened. He tells himself it was just a result of the adrenaline, the excitement of winning, of making it out alive. It wasn’t because he finds Tooru beautiful, with or without the glamor. It’s not because his heart races even now at the thought of maybe kissing Tooru again.

It’s not because he thinks he might be falling for his best friend.

It’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I really hate writing action scenes /lies down)
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	7. only fools rush in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got long . . .
> 
> enjoy!

 

 

 

take my hand, take my whole life too  
for i can't help falling in love with you

\-- elvis presley, _can't help falling in love_

* * *

 

 

Kenma decides he doesn’t mind the cat. It’s quiet and unintimidating, and he doesn’t have to look into that familiar face that makes him nervous in ways he doesn’t completely understand. He still has to see that face at school, because Kuroo still follows him around at lunchtime, asking him questions about his life as though he’s actually interested.

Kenma isn’t sure he believes that, so he doesn’t bother answering.

Kuroo doesn’t stalk him in general anymore, though. He’s not waiting across the street for him when Kenma leaves for school, and he doesn’t trail him into the city when Kenma visits his grandmother’s shop. The cat always returns at night, though. It sits outside his house, facing the street as though on guard. Kenma guesses that as long as he isn’t bothering him that it’s okay. And it’s kind of nice to think he has a personal bodyguard at night to make up for the fact that Mori and Lev have their own lives outside of spending time with him.

Sometimes Kenma will leave a bowl of cat food on the porch.

Kuroo doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

Rarely Kenma will allow the cat inside. If he’s feeling particularly lonely, with his parents working and Mori and Lev busy elsewhere, he’ll leave the door open just a smidge, enough for Kuroo to nudge his way inside. He lays curled up beside Kenma on the couch, seeming to sleep as Kenma plays his games or does homework. As soon as Mori or Lev come over, though, Kuroo leaves, as though he knows his work is done. Kenma’s not sure where he goes after that, but he always shows up again at night, taking his place at the end of the driveway, still as a statue.

Kenma’s not sure why he goes through so much trouble. He wonders if he simply doesn’t have anything better to do.

One night, however, Kuroo doesn’t show. Kenma finds it odd and begins to grow anxious. He tells himself he has no reason to be, seeing as he doesn’t really care if Kuroo is around or not, but he can’t help but wonder if something happened to him.

The next day at school, Kuroo is there at lunch once more, eating his food at a table like nothing happened. He’s sitting with Bokuto, who sometimes stays for Nekoma’s food rather than go home to eat. Kenma makes his way over quickly; a little breathless by the time he reaches them.

“Why weren’t you outside last night?” he asks, annoyed now that he sees Kuroo is perfectly fine.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, turning from his conversation with Bokuto to give Kenma a cursory glance. “Were you worried about me?” he asks, a slow, shit-eating grin tilting his lips.

Kenma instantly frowns. He takes a step back, shaking his head. “No,” he lies, because how is he supposed to admit that he was worried? He doesn’t want Kuroo getting any ideas. He’s _not_ Kenta, and he doesn’t want anything to do with the man in that way. He’s not going to be a replacement.

Kuroo loses his smile, shrugging then as he looks vaguely over Kenma’s shoulder. “I spent some time with Bokuto and Akaashi. They invited me over. I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.” His eyes flicker back to Kenma’s, and there’s a question in them, one Kenma can’t quite figure out but it leaves him feeling even more irritable.

“Forget it,” he mutters, turning on his heel and stalking back to his place beside Mori and Lev.

“What was that all about?” Mori asks, as Kenma plops down into the seat next to him.

“Nothing.” Kenma leans his forehead down against the tabletop with a sigh, not sure why he feels a sting of hurt prickling his chest.

He doesn’t care about Kuroo’s opinion of him. He doesn’t. It doesn’t matter.

That night Kuroo’s outside once more, and Kenma continues to tell himself that it doesn’t matter.

_He’s only doing this because he wants you to be Kenta. He doesn’t care about you personally._

Kenma sleeps fitfully, flashes of memories teasing the corners of his mind. He never sees a complete picture, just a brush of a hand, the feel of a staff in his palm, the weight of a cloak around his shoulders. A smile. A laugh. A kiss.

In the end he grabs his PSP and plays until the sun begins its ascent and the PSP falls from limp fingers off the edge of the bed.

 

“You seem tired, Kenma-kun,” Akaashi observes, stating the obvious as Kenma completes his third yawn.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Kenma admits, curling his fingers more closely around the warm surface of his teacup. With the weather outside starting to change, autumn coming on swift winds and crackling leaves, he takes comfort in the warmth of the tea.

“Do you wish to discuss it?” Akaashi offers, lowering his own cup from his lips. There’s a spot of liquid on the lower one that he licks away, quick and neat.

Kenma turns his gaze down to pick at the frayed edge of the cuff of his hoodie sleeve. He shrugs one shoulder absently, glancing toward the fridge. There’s a new photo tacked to it with an owl magnet, one of Bokuto and Akaashi at the planetarium. They’re both facing the camera, and Bokuto is grinning widely, leaning his shoulder into Akaashi’s and throwing up a peace sign. Akaashi’s hands are tucked away in his gloves, and he stands stiffly beside Bokuto, but his expression is happy, a tiny smile lifting his lips.

“Does it make you mad that Bokuto’s practically dating Kuroo?” Kenma asks, turning to look back at Akaashi.

Akaashi purses his lips, looking down and brushing invisible dust off the tabletop.

“I’m not . . . _mad_. Am I happy about the fact that the man I’m interested in has to find physical comfort in the arms of another? No, of course not. But I want Bokuto-san to have those things. I don’t want him to live with any regrets. So for now I make myself content with the fact that Bokuto-san says he enjoys spending time with me, and he does spend time with me. He comes over almost every night, if only to wish me a good one.” Akaashi smiles then, fondly. “He’s very attentive.”

Kenma narrows his eyes slightly. “Okay.”

Akaashi laughs softly. “I know our situation is unusual. But when you love somebody you want what’s best for them.”

Kenma stares.

Slowly, Akaashi seems to realize what he’s said. His eyes widen, and he inhales sharply. “That’s not . . . I didn’t mean to say that,” he admits quietly.

Kenma just watches him, studying the subtle expressions that flicker across Akaashi’s face. He seems dismayed yet happy at the same time, and there’s an embarrassed flush across his cheekbones.

“I don’t . . . I mean, I’m not . . .” Akaashi fidgets in his seat, fiddling with his teacup. Kenma can’t help but find it endearing. “We’ve only known each other personally a couple of months.”

Kenma blinks slowly. “And that means you can’t love him?”

Akaashi looks pained. “It’s not something I can follow up on. Please don’t tell him what I said. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. We can’t be together in that way, so it’s futile to say anything.”

Kenma leans back in his seat, putting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “You shouldn’t give up so easily. If you love him, you should figure out a way.”

_Kuroo figured out a way to escape Hell itself to be with the man he loved. Surely there’s a way for Keiji to escape his as well._

When Kenma realizes his thoughts went to Kuroo, he frowns, picking up his cup to finish his tea, telling his mind to stop bringing the man up.

Akaashi frowns thoughtfully but before he can reply, a loud insistent knocking on the door startles them both. Kenma doesn’t miss the fleeting smile that crosses Akaashi’s face before he carefully arranges his polite mask. He stands, making his way out of the kitchen to the front door. Kenma gets up as well, though he lingers in the kitchen entryway, listening as Akaashi opens the door.

“Bokuto-san. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“I got too excited to see you so I came over early!”

“That’s very kind of you, but I have a guest.”

“Oho? Who is it? Do I know them?”

“Bokuto-san . . .”

Kenma starts, as Bokuto comes bouncing around the corner, nearly knocking into him. He hops back a step when he notices Kenma, eyes widening briefly before he grins.

“Kozume-kun!” he says, grinning brightly.

Kenma blushes despite himself. “Good afternoon, Bokuto-san,” he says, bowing slightly.

“This is great! You can come too!” Bokuto exclaims.

“Bokuto-san, you’re too loud,” Akaashi admonishes gently, as he steps up beside him. Kenma notices the way he seems to lean closer to Bokuto, the ache to touch evident in the twitching of his fingers. But then he carefully slides them into the sleeves of his yukata, and Kenma returns to Bokuto’s invitation.

“Come where?” he asks.

“Kuroo and I were thinking of having a karaoke night!” Bokuto says, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s going to be so much fun!” He turns to Akaashi to say this, eyes shining. “You should come!”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Akaashi says, shaking his head then. “But I don’t think I’d be very much fun. I can’t sing.”

“Ridiculous! You don’t need to be able to sing for karaoke!”

“Isn’t singing the point of karaoke?” Kenma asks blankly.

Bokuto makes a face. “It’s just for fun, Kozume-kun! Come on, come on!” He clasps his hands together and gives Akaashi a pouting face, looking just like a puppy in want of affection.

Kenma can see Akaashi’s willpower crumbling as though it’s a physical wall that Bokuto just crashed into with all his sunshine-like enthusiasm.

Akaashi sighs. “When are you planning to hold this karaoke night?”

“Oh, well, tonight if you can make it!” Bokuto says, nodding. “I was supposed to call and ask you and then let him know, but I thought it’d be nicer to see you.”

“Smooth,” Kenma says approvingly with a nod.

Akaashi’s cheeks pinken. It’s cute, and Kenma feels a faint shudder in his chest. He exhales slowly, gripping the sleeve cuffs of his hoodie in his palms.

“You should go, Akaashi,” he prompts with another nod.

Akaashi glances at him, eyebrows rising slightly. Kenma looks away, but not in time to avoid Bokuto stepping closer and ducking his head to catch his gaze.

“You should come too, Kozume-kun!” he insists.

“No, thank you,” Kenma says, shaking his head. The thought of having to spend time with Kuroo makes his stomach roll uncomfortably. But Bokuto is now looking at him with a sad pout, those large gold eyes of his glimmering. Kenma feels bad for disappointing him. He glances at Akaashi, rationalizing that he can simply stick by him, and Kuroo won’t be able to bother him about Kenta or anything if he’s in a group of them together. He’ll just have to avoid being left alone with him.

“Please? I promise it’s not going to be a crazy thing,” Bokuto says. “It’ll just be us four at my place! My parents are going out tonight and said we could.”

Kenma sighs. “Okay,” he relents, guessing he can also just play his PSP if he gets anxious. That always calms him down.

“This is going to be so awesome!” Bokuto exclaims, pumping the air with his fists. “Hey, hey, hey!”

Akaashi and Kenma exchange a glance and can’t help but smile.

 

Later, Kenma finds himself struggling over what to wear. He tells himself he’s being ridiculous, that it’s just the four of them, and he doesn’t have to dress up for something as casual as karaoke. But Akaashi always looks so nice and well put-together, as does Kuroo, and Bokuto will probably look nice despite his obnoxious taste in clashing colors. Kenma doesn’t want to be the odd one out in his worn jeans and faded t-shirts.

>> _do you have any clothes I can borrow?_ (16:46)

 **Mori**  
_oh? are you going out somewhere?_ (16:46)

>> _i was invited to karaoke. do you have any clothes?_ (16:47)

 **Mori _  
_**_none that i think will fit you. maybe lev has some old ones from when he wasn’t so tall?_ (16:48)

>> _i don’t think he’s ever not been freakishly tall._ (16:47)

 **Mori**  
_good point. maybe his sister has something?_ (16:47)

Kenma pauses in thought. He’s never really talked to Lev’s sister, but he’s seen her every once in a while. She goes to a regular high school and is a few years younger. He thinks she’s around his height, and from what he’s seen of her fashion sense she has pretty good taste. Better taste than Lev, at least.

Of course that will require going over to Lev’s house, but Kenma thinks he can manage it alone for a few minutes at least.

>> _i’ll go see._ (16:50)

 **Mori**  
_do you want me to go with you?_ (16:50)

>> _no i’m fine._ (16:50)

Lev’s house is a couple streets down, and Kenma makes his way there briskly, after texting Lev to let him know he was coming over. His friend had replied with a lot of exclamation points, but he generally does so Kenma isn’t sure if he’ll be overwhelmed by Lev or not. Sometimes he’s able to temper his enthusiasm to a volume that doesn’t make Kenma cringe, but most days he’s too loud and too boisterous to stand for long without Mori as a buffer.

Kenma likes Lev; he’s just a lot to handle.

“Kenma!” Lev exclaims as he opens the door, grinning happily.

Kenma whips his head around, making sure that black cat isn’t anywhere nearby before shoving past Lev and into the house. He kicks his shoes off, frowning up at Lev.

“Don’t shout my name so loudly,” he scolds.

Lev shuts the door, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he says. “I was just excited. You don’t really come over that often.”

Kenma glances at the wall clock. “Is your sister home?” he asks.

Lev shakes his head. “She had band practice. My mom’s in the study, and my dad’s at work. So we’re alone for now!” He seems happy by the prospect, and Kenma isn’t sure if he should feel worried or not.

Lev leads him further into the house, and Kenma mutters a soft “sorry for intruding” to the air. Their footsteps seem to echo in the expansive hallway. Kenma’s always surprised by how large the place is, even though he knows that the Haibas are very well off. He always feels small and insignificant in their dwelling, which is another reason why he doesn’t visit often. Hunching his shoulders, he stays on Lev’s heels as they make their way upstairs to the bedrooms.

“Your sister won’t mind me borrowing her clothes?” he asks hopefully, as Lev opens the door to his sister’s room.

It’s clean and neat, with only a little bit of clutter around her desk and bookshelf. She’s a fairly studious person, and Kenma knows she’s brilliant as well. He sometimes wonders if she got all the brains between her and Lev.

Lev shakes his head, sitting on the soft pink comforter on the bed. “I texted her after you texted me. She says it’s fine, and she hopes you find something you like!”

Kenma nods, stepping toward the closet and opening it. It’s large, and he’s able to walk inside, examining the different articles there organized by type and color. As he shifts through them, he can hear Lev bouncing absently on the bed and braces himself for a question.

“Hey Kenma? Do you think Mori-san is cute?”

Kenma pauses, his hand lingering on a pair of jeans. He turns to frown slightly through the doorway at Lev, who’s staring intently back at him, head tilted to the side like a curious bird.

He thinks a moment. He’s never really thought about it. Mori is his best friend and the closest thing he has to an actual caregiver. He always makes sure Kenma’s eaten or slept and is sometimes overbearing with his mothering, but Kenma never truly minds. But that ends up making him see their older friend as someone to look up to and respect rather than someone he could be interested in in that way.

“I guess?” he says after a moment, turning back to the clothes. Mori’s attractive, he supposes, but not really his type.

Lev’s unnaturally quiet after that, and Kenma can’t help but feel worried. He looks back over again to find Lev looking down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. Sighing, Kenma realizes he’s going to need to engage more since Lev obviously has something he needs to get off his chest.

“Do you think he’s cute?” he asks, cringing inwardly at how that sounds.

Lev’s head comes up instantly, and he grins faintly. “I think he’s adorable!” he says. “But . . . I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Kenma shakes his head, looking over the clothing choices again and pulling down a soft pink button-down blouse that looks like it’d fit. “He wouldn’t be your friend if he didn’t like you.”

“But he was your friend first, and then I was your friend and so we just hang out together because of that. Well, sometimes we study together without you, but not really,” Lev muses. “I just . . . I really like him, Kenma! I want him to like me too!”

“He does.” Kenma hesitates over a skirt, wondering if he should try it. It has a high waist and is solid black, flaring out at the hem. It would look good with the blouse but he’s never worn a skirt before. What if it doesn’t look good on him? His legs are so thin . . . He begins rooting for leggings.

“Okay, but I want him to _like_ like me,” Lev clarifies. “I think I just annoy him.”

 _Maybe you should try being less annoying_. That’s mean, though, so Kenma doesn’t say it. He finds a pair of thigh high socks, black with white cat faces on them. They’re cute. He pulls them out, hoping Lev’s sister doesn’t mind.

“Lev, you should talk to Mori about this. I honestly don’t know how to help you.”

Lev sighs. “I don’t want him to get mad at me. Besides, I like someone else too.”

Kenma doesn’t ask who that second person is, getting the feeling he already knows. He moves to close the closet door, getting changed into the clothes he decided on. The blouse is a little loose in the front, but Lev’s sister is mostly flat chested so it’s not too bad. When he tucks it into the waist of the skirt it doesn’t bulge at least. The skirt buttons and zips on the side, with the option for two buttons, so he’s able to tighten it using the second one. The socks fit surprisingly well, and he steps out of the closet somewhat self-consciously.

Lev blinks, staring. Kenma fidgets, picking at the skin beside his nails.

“Um.”

“Wow, Kenma!” Lev blurts out, his voice loud enough to cause Kenma to cringe. “You look amazing!”

“Thank you,” Kenma mutters, looking away. The lightness of the skirt makes him feel naked, and the blouse’s short sleeves do nothing to cover the goosebumps trailing up his arms.

“You should wear this too!” Lev says, leaping off the bed and hopping over. Kenma swerves out of the way, as Lev reaches into the closet to pull down a black cardigan, handing it to Kenma then. It’s a little big, but Kenma is grateful for the extra cover.

“Do you want me to do your hair?” Lev asks, eyes shining.

Kenma bites his lip, not sure why he feels embarrassed by the gaze. It’s just that the expression on Lev’s face is one of wonder and affection, and Kenma’s stomach squirms as he remembers Lev’s confession that he likes someone other than Mori.

“What’ll you do to it?” he asks, touching the strands. He doesn’t want it away from his face. It provides extra protection.

“I was thinking a ponytail!” Lev says, crossing over to his sister’s desk to pick up a band from the clutter lying there. “Don’t worry, I do my sister’s hair all the time! I’m really good at it!”

Kenma eyes the band warily, before nodding. He guesses he can always pull it out later if he doesn’t like it. Lev grins, stepping closer. Kenma braces himself, but when Lev’s fingers run through his hair they’re gentle, carefully untangling a few strands in a way that doesn’t tug on Kenma’s scalp at all. It’s surprisingly soothing, and Kenma finds himself relaxing.

“Your hair is really soft, Kenma,” Lev says quietly, and there’s an inflection in his voice that causes Kenma’s face to burn.

He says nothing in reply, simply looks down at his hands, running his fingers over the cuffs of the cardigan. Lev pulls back his hair but keeps a few strands in the front hanging to frame Kenma’s face. He twists the band into the tail he formed, and then steps back, nodding in satisfaction.

“There. Now you look perfect. Come see!” He grabs Kenma’s wrist, and Kenma lets him pull him into the bathroom, setting him in front of the mirror. “See?”

Kenma almost doesn’t recognize himself. He looks older somehow; more mature, perhaps. Lev grins at Kenma’s reflection, lifting the wrist he still holds to make Kenma’s hand do the “nya” cat pose beside Kenma’s face, giggling.

“You’re so cute, Kenma-kun,” he says.

Kenma swallows hard, looking blankly at Lev’s reflection. He’s not sure what to say, but he feels the increasing urge to get away quickly before something happens that’ll hurt Lev. Gently, he pulls his wrist out of Lev’s hand, not turning to look at him. He can feel Lev’s aura, the way it’s pulsating quickly like that of a rapid heartbeat. It’s sending a signal Kenma knows he can’t reciprocate, and his throat feels tight again.

He wishes Lev wasn’t so earnest and hopeful.

“I should go now,” he says, keeping his back to Lev. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh! Right,” Lev says, shaking his head quickly as though clearing away a thought. “I’ll walk you out!”

He trails behind Kenma as they head back to the door. Kenma pulls on his shoes, as Lev bounces on his toes slightly. “Do you want me to drop your clothes off at your house or keep them here?” he asks curiously.

“Um, you can give them to Mori. I’ll pick them up there,” Kenma says, keeping his gaze lowered.

“Okay,” Lev says, and he doesn’t sound upset at the notion. Kenma hopes he’ll take the opportunity to talk to Mori about what he told Kenma. He’d like to see his two friends happy in a way he can’t make them.

Standing, Kenma waves slightly before leaving the house quickly, not sure why his chest aches like he just did something wrong. He tells himself that it’s better he left when he did. He knew a conversation was coming that he didn’t want to have.

_It’s better this way._

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

 

Bokuto’s house is also nice, though not as modern or big as Lev’s. He arrives with his backpack slung over one shoulder, several games and his phone tucked inside. Just in case.

Bokuto opens the door already grinning. “Kozume-kun!” he says happily. He stops short then, eyes widening as he takes in Kenma’s outfit. “Whoa . . . you look amazing!”

“Um, thank you,” Kenma murmurs, shifting on his feet as Bokuto’s gaze continues to linger. He can feel heat crawling up his neck, an itch forming near his eye. He scratches at it, using the opportunity to hide his face further.

“Bokuto-san, don’t just stand there. Let him in.” Akaashi appears beside Bokuto, wearing black slacks and a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled down, his hands covered by black gloves. He looks elegant, the clothes hugging his form in a way that seems almost sensual, especially since he’s usually hidden behind a yukata. Bokuto clashes beside him, wearing jeans and an obnoxiously bright blue shirt patterned with dozens of tiny yellow owls. He still looks good though, very good, and Kenma’s glad that he took the time to dress up himself.

“You look lovely, Kozume-kun,” Akaashi offers, as he nudges the still gawking Bokuto out of the way with his hip. “Please come in.”

“Sorry for intruding,” Kenma says, sliding off his shoes as Akaashi closes the door behind him.

“Kuroo-san is in the next room,” Akaashi informs him. “Will you be okay?”

Kenma pulls his backpack around to hug it to his chest, ignoring the way his heart seems to be trying to escape it. He nods, knowing he doesn’t really have a choice at this point.

“Yeah! Everything’s set up already!” Bokuto exclaims, jolting out of his daze. “I ordered pizza too! You like pizza, right?”

Kenma nods again.

“Awesome!”

Bokuto leads the way, Akaashi twisting his fingers together as he walks beside Kenma. “Did you dress up for anyone in particular?” he murmurs curiously.

Kenma isn’t sure how to answer. When he steps into the living room, he immediately sees Kuroo on the couch, scrolling through the song options on the karaoke remote. The machine’s been set up to one side, leaving space open in the center of the room for whoever may be singing. He’s wearing dark jeans and a blood-red dress shirt, a black leather jacket over it. He looks up with a grin when Bokuto enters the room, but when his gaze finds Kenma it freezes. His eyes widen slightly, and Kenma instantly regrets his decision to wear this outfit.

He feels entirely exposed, and he takes half a step behind Akaashi, staring down at the floor. He crushes his backpack to his chest, wondering if he can escape. But no, he doesn’t want to turn tail and run. He’s not going to let Kuroo intimidate him.

Still not meeting Kuroo’s gaze, he turns and scurries over to a seat on the opposite side of the room. He immediately pulls out his PSP and starts to play, even as Bokuto huffs and complains that that’s not the point of this night at all. Akaashi tells him to leave it be, and Kuroo breaks out of daze to challenge Bokuto to a sing-off. Kenma presses back against the cushion of his chair and steals surreptitious glances at the three of them, grateful that they’re leaving him alone and grateful for the company as well.

He decides that if the night stays like this he’ll be able to make it through without an anxiety attack.

Maybe he’ll even be able to have fun.

 

***

 

Aoba Johsai’s library, while extensive, is used rarely out of school hours. Most students seem to think that because they’re demon hunters they don’t need to read up on anything that isn’t directly related to their assignments. They’d rather work on their bodies instead of their minds: working out for hours at a time, enhancing their fighting skills, and practicing with different weapons to find their favorite ones.

There are exceptions. Yahaba Shigeru and Kunimi Akira are two students that Oikawa often sees around the library after hours. Kyoutani Kentarou and Kindaichi Yuutarou often accompany them, respectively, but it’s not often that Oikawa sees them studying themselves. They appear to be there more for the company than for the knowledge.

Iwa-chan falls somewhere in-between. He’s smart enough to know that book learning is just as important in the field of hunting as the physical requirements. He’s always been better at the physical parts, however, which is why Oikawa likes to tease him, saying he’s the brawn while Oikawa is the brain in their partnership. Iwa-chan never denies it, simply grunts in response, and sometimes Oikawa wonders if he actually thinks he’s stupid. He hopes not.

Iwa-chan is perceptive in ways others aren’t. For instance, Oikawa didn’t tell him that he’d be in the library tonight, and yet here he is, glowering down at him with his arms crossed.

“It’s past eight, what the fuck are you still doing here?” he demands to know.

Oikawa gestures to the stacks of books in front of him, to his notebook scribbled full with his neat handwriting, the half-chewed highlighters and pencils scattered about it. “I’m studying.”

“Not anymore you’re not. You’re going home. Right now.” Iwa-chan grabs the back of Oikawa’s shirt, hauling him to his feet like the brute he is.

“But Iwa- _chan_ ,” Oikawa complains, not struggling out of his grasp because one: he knows it’d be futile, and two: Iwa-chan’s warm hand pressed against the back of his neck feels nice. “This is important! I’m trying to find out more about this Hell Mouth stirring. It’s happened before, you know, a little over 600 years ago. A powerful sorcerer named Kenta was able to stop it, but there’s so little on _how_ that happened. It just says he managed to kill the demon responsible. I don’t think it actually opened, but there was an increase in demon activity.”

The grip on his neck loosens, as Iwa-chan frowns faintly. “You think there’s a demon trying to open it now?”

Oikawa swallows back his immediate response. He doesn’t want to talk about his recurring nightmares, how they’ve grown more intense over the past few weeks. He’s woken with an urgency, a pressing against his chest, a whisper in his ear telling him to “open his present.” A couple times he’s even found himself waking in the middle of that clearing, having sleepwalked the entire way there. He doesn’t want to tell Iwa-chan about the growing dread in his heart, the coming realization that, _I’m the demon trying to open it. It’s me._

He’s just grateful he hasn’t subconsciously figured out how to do it. Yet. He’s hoping his research will lead him to the right magic to counteract these urges, to cure him, to make him normal . . .

“I don’t know,” he answers instead, shrugging one shoulder. “But I think it’s worth looking into, don’t you? I’m thinking of stopping by the Nekoma Institute soon to see what books they have on the subject. You don’t have to join me if you don’t want to. Demon magic is quite complicated, I wouldn’t want you to hurt your brain trying to understand everything.”

He dodges a swipe of Iwa-chan’s hand, laughing. Iwa-chan shakes his head.

“Fine,” he says. “But you’re stopping for tonight. Did you even eat dinner?” He holds up a hand before Oikawa can reply. “No, never mind. I know you didn’t. Come on, my mom can make us something.”

He tugs on Oikawa’s sleeve, and this time Oikawa doesn’t protest. He gathers up his things, setting them in his bag. He wasn’t making very much progress anyway. It didn’t help that his thoughts kept meandering between his dreams and that kiss Iwa-chan gave him that night of the imp attack. His lips still tingle when he thinks of it. He hasn’t brought it up, because Iwa-chan seems to want to try and forget it ever happened.

Oikawa isn’t happy about that, but he also doesn’t want to lose his best friend, so he tries to forget it happened to no avail. At least he’s good at pretending. He walks beside Iwa-chan toward the Iwaizumi residence, humming absently. The night sky is clear, and when he looks up he can see stars spread out in varying brightness. Space has always fascinated him. He looks upon it as a wonder he’ll never fully comprehend. He thinks that if he hadn’t decided to become a hunter and defeat every demon in existence, if he was normal, he would’ve become an astrologist or an astronaut.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” Iwa-chan huffs.

Oikawa glances sidelong at his best friend. He’s walking with his hands in his pockets, broad shoulders back, strong jaw clenched faintly. Oikawa wonders why he looks so stressed but doesn’t comment on it.

“I’m _thinking_ , Iwa-chan. That’s what happens when you have a brain that works.” He grins, and the swat to the back of his head barely hurts.

“You have a really shitty personality, you know that?” Iwa-chan grumbles.

Oikawa is ready with a retort, but it’s clipped off by the sound of his phone ringing. He opens it with a flourish, alien head charm swinging against his hand. He puts it on speaker. “Yahoo~”

“Get to the clearing.” It’s Hanamaki, sounding urgent.

“Ooh, are you finally allowing me to join in your secret trysts, Makki-chan?” Oikawa asks, grinning.

“You wish. Bring Iwaizumi too.”

“What’s going on?” Iwa-chan asks, stopping beside Oikawa as they both halt. There’s something off in Makki’s voice. Oikawa can hear it in the slight tremor that hovers beneath his usual nonchalant tone.

“You’ll see.”

He hangs up, leaving Oikawa and Iwa-chan staring dubiously at the phone.

“Another imp attack?” Iwa-chan suggests, but the sudden tightening in Oikawa’s chest tells him it’s much worse.

They break into a run; Oikawa’s bag slamming against his back in rhythmic beats. When they reach the clearing, it’s easy to see immediately why Makki sounded so off on the phone. They skid to a stop, staring.

Makki and Mattsun stand near the center of the clearing, and between them, burned into the grass, are the words THE KINGDOM AWAITS ITS KING.

Oikawa feels a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He steps forward slowly, kneeling beside the blackened grass and touching it with his fingertips. It’s cold, probably a few hours old at least.

“What the hell does that mean?” Iwa-chan mumbles, crouching beside Oikawa. His expression tightens, as he looks over the words.

Oikawa stands abruptly, narrowing his eyes at Makki and Mattsun. “What are you two even doing out here?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you were using mine and Iwa-chan’s special place for your hook-ups.”

Iwa-chan stood slowly, raising an eyebrow at Oikawa. “Is that really what you’re worried about right now?” he asks incredulously.

Oikawa places his hands on his hips, ignoring him to frown over at Mattsun and Makki, who look anything but innocent. “You two are using our fort for sex!”

“You never said we _couldn’t_ use your fort for sex,” Mattsun points out.

Oikawa sputters. “That shouldn’t be something I _have_ to say!’’

“Oikawa!” Iwa-chan snaps.

Flinching slightly, Oikawa glances at Iwa-chan warily. He looks angry, brows furrowed and hands clenched into fists. He gestures to the words on the ground behind him.

“Do you know what this means?” he asks sharply, boring holes into Oikawa’s face with his eyes.

Oikawa glances at it briefly, before looking away again. “It . . . might be another sign,” he admits. “Something I read recently mentioned that one of the signs of the Hell Mouth stirring back 600 years ago was notes left similar to this one. It means the day of its opening is imminent.”

Makki and Mattsun exchange glances, but Iwa-chan’s eyes remain solely fixed on him. He titters anxiously, sliding one hand off his hip to gesture toward the words. “We should just tell Principal Takeda about it and leave it to the DHS. I’m sure they’ll take care of it.”

“That’s all?” Makki asks, disappointed.

“You don’t want to look into this yourself?” Mattsun asks.

“Why would I want to do that?” Oikawa asks, blinking innocently.

“Because? You never let things go? Your curiosity could rival a cat’s?” Makki says, raising his almost nonexistent eyebrows.

“Because you always want to be the best at everything, including solving mysteries just like this one,” Mattsun points out, his heavy brows creasing over his nose.

Oikawa feels panic rising toward his throat. Iwa-chan is saying nothing to defend him, and that sense of doom hasn’t lifted since he stepped into the clearing. A tiny whisper enters the back of his mind, speaking in that same sickly sweet voice Iwa-chan used in his nightmare to tell him about his present.

_[if you kill them, they won’t be able to tell. they’ll never find out what you really are.]_

Oikawa feels the blood drain from his face. He wavers on his feet, nearly toppling over except for the fact that Iwa-chan is immediately at his side, catching him with a strong arm around his waist.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gruffly, dancing flickers of blue worry interrupting the gold of his aura.

Oikawa can only shake his head, pursing his lips. Mattsun and Makki’s auras are dancing with blue as well, and they exchange another glance. This won’t do. They can’t start asking questions, questions that Oikawa has no idea how to answer. He shakes himself, pushing off Iwa-chan to straighten. Patting his hair to make sure it’s still perfect, he flashes his friends a quick, reassuring grin, painting over his panic with well-practiced ease.

“I’m fine! Just feel a bit woozy. I think it’s because I ran all this way, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast! Silly me.” He rubs the back of his neck, sticking out his tongue playfully.

Iwa-chan smacks him hard upside the head. “What the hell, Trashykawa? You can’t go a whole day without eating!”

Grimacing, Oikawa clutches at his head and whines. “But Iwa- _chan_ , I was doing important schoolwork!”

“No excuses. You’re coming with me right now and we’re getting you food. I’ll force-feed it to you if I have to.”

Iwa-chan waves at Makki and Mattsun before he grabs Oikawa’s arm and hauls him out of the clearing. Oikawa barely has time to wave at their friends before they’ve disappeared behind the trees. Iwa-chan’s vice-like grip doesn’t loosen until they’re well out of hearing distance. Then he slows to a stop, turning Oikawa to face him. His hand relaxes, running down the length of Oikawa’s arm slowly.

Oikawa suppresses a shiver as goosebumps appear on his skin. Iwa-chan watches his arm instead of looking at his face a moment, before his sharp gaze turns to stare into Oikawa’s eyes.

“What was that back there? Don’t lie to me.”

Inhaling shakily, Oikawa steps back out of reach. “It was nothing, Iwa-chan. I honestly think I was just lightheaded from the run. I really haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“But that message in the grass . . . it means something else, doesn’t it? You know who this king is, don’t you?”

Oikawa swallows hard, knowing he can’t hide everything from Iwa-chan, as much as he wishes he could. He wants to protect him, but keeping him in the dark about something like this will only lead to worse things later on, he knows. Besides, he doesn’t want to go into this alone. He needs Iwa-chan by his side. His best friend. His pillar. The one person in this world whom he loves more than anything.

Inhaling shakily, he meets Hajime’s concerned frown with a weak smile that tremors at the corners.

“I think . . . I think I’m the king.”

 

***

 

Karaoke is _fun_. Honestly, when Bokuto first suggested it, Kuroo had been skeptical. He’d never played karaoke before, though impromptu sing-alongs in taverns while drunk did occur more than once back in the day. He supposes his skepticism stemmed from the fact that Bokuto wanted to invite Akaashi, who (in Kuroo’s opinion) didn’t seem like the type to enjoy that sort of thing.

The night turns out to be full of surprises.

Apparently Akaashi _can_ sing, but he’s simply self-conscious about it. Once he’s consumed some alcohol though, Bokuto manages to convince him to sing a duet with him. It’s cheesy and romantic, and Kuroo can’t help but grin around his pizza as he watches the two.

Kozume is the other surprise. Kuroo wasn’t expecting him to arrive at all, despite Bokuto mentioning that he invited the kid. He figured that if Kozume knew he’d be there, he’d stay as far away as possible. But no, he shows up wearing the most adorable outfit Kuroo’s probably ever seen in his entire life, with his hair pulled back and framing his face in a way that displays his delicate features to their advantage.

Kuroo managed not to make a total fool of himself when he saw him, but he can’t help but continue to make glances out of the corner of his eye to where Kozume sits in a chair across the room, engrossed in one of his games. He’s been that way all night, stopping only when Akaashi nudges a plate of food toward him. He hasn’t had anything to drink yet, so Kuroo grabs some water (bypassing the beer despite being curious as to how Kozume is while tipsy) and brings it over to him.

Crouching by the chair, he sets the cup on the armrest, looking up into Kozume’s face. The glow of the device’s screen reflects in his large, gold eyes, making them shine almost eerily in the dim light of the room.

“Hey. I brought you some water,” Kuroo says, nudging the cup a little closer.

“You didn’t have to,” comes the immediate and dismissive response.

Kuroo sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying not to be distracted by the sight of Kozume’s legs encased in those black socks with the adorable cat faces on them. He’s only ever seen Kozume in faded, baggy clothes that hang off his thin frame like they have nothing to live for. This is a strikingly different look, and Kuroo is rather unnerved by the fact that he _likes_ it.

_[you’re a pervert.]_

Coughing lightly, Kuroo moves to stand, frowning down at Kozume. “You know, seeing as Bokuto’s my best bud now, and he’s in love with Akaashi, who’s one of _your_ best buds, I think it’d be beneficial for us to at least be friendly.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why _not_?”

“I don’t _like_ you.”

The quick honesty has Kuroo taken aback. He gapes down at Kozume, until the boy lifts his head and frowns up at Kuroo.

“You just want me to be Kenta. That’s the only reason why you bother with me.”

Kuroo inhales sharply to deny this, but the air leaves him without words to carry. He _does_ wish Kozume were Kenta, if only because then he’d have Kenta back. He doesn’t wish Kozume didn’t exist at all or something ridiculous like that. He’s not sure how to explain that though without just looking like an asshole, so he just closes his mouth.

Kozume returns to his game as though nothing happened, and Kuroo is left feeling at a loss. Thankfully Bokuto appears beside him, grinning and breathless, holding the microphone out to Kozume.

“Come on, Kozume-kun! Sing a duet with me!”

Kozume glances up, wrinkling his nose slightly and shaking his head. “No.”

“Come _on_! You can’t go to a karaoke party and _not_ sing karaoke!”

Kozume simply blinks at Bokuto as though saying, “watch me.” Kuroo is hit with another difference between Kenta and Kozume. Kenta was a people-pleaser. He ran himself ragged attempting to help people even when he was tired or didn’t feel well. He always had a difficult time saying no, because he wanted people to like him. He wanted to keep his reputation untainted (which is one of the reasons why he disliked Kuroo visiting so many taverns).

Kozume doesn’t seem to have any trouble saying “no,” however. And Kuroo can’t help but chuckle softly. He has guts for sure, this kid. Even though Kuroo can tell he’s self-conscious. It doesn’t escape his notice the redness around his fingernails from absent picking, a habit born of anxiety. He can tell Kozume has many personal demons of his own, but he doesn’t seem to let that keep him from standing up for himself.

It’s admirable.

Akaashi joins the trio, smiling gently down at Kozume. “Would you like to sing with me?” he asks.

Bokuto huffs. “He says he does—”

“Sure,” Kozume says lightly, pausing his game and standing.

Bokuto gawks, as Kozume follows Akaashi to the center of the room, taking the microphone from Bokuto’s limp grasp. Kuroo barks a laugh, watching as Bokuto’s face turns red with indignation.

“Looks like Kozume has a favorite and it’s not you,” Kuroo says, smirking

“That’s so unfair,” Bokuto says, pouting. “I’m a great singer! Anyone would be lucky to sing with me!”

“Bro, don’t worry. I feel lucky just being around you,” Kuroo assures him, setting his hand on Bokuto’s shoulder.

Bokuto’s eyes light up as he turns to look at Kuroo with a grin. “Bro . . . that means so much to me.”

Kuroo flicks the side of Bokuto’s head with a laugh. Akaashi rolls his eyes, turning to choose a song, something slow-paced and sweet. His voice is clear and strong, and he takes the lead, nodding at Kozume when it’s his turn to start. Kuroo can’t help but lean forward with interest, tilting his head to try and catch the sound of Kozume’s soft voice, as he practically mumbles the words into the microphone.

Akaashi shakes his head, very lightly tapping Kozume under the chin with a gloved finger. “You have to sing louder, Kozume-kun,” he prompts. “Or the machine won’t recognize it.”

Kozume frowns faintly, but on his next verse he raises his voice. Standing stiffly beside Akaashi, he lacks all the vitality and expression of Bokuto’s performance, and he doesn’t have the elegance or poise of Akaashi’s, but as soon as Kuroo hears his voice he’s transfixed.

The song is in Japanese, but the actual words go through his head like water. He can’t focus on them. All he can hear is Kenta’s voice, chanting incantation after incantation in a lilting voice like a song.

_“These should hold any demons back long enough for the others to rally the troops and make their attack,” Kenta said, after he finished fortifying the walls around their hiding place._

_Kuroo looked around what could only be described as a shack; it’s small and old, the wood cracked in several places. “Are you sure about this? I still think we should find a better place.”_

_Kenta purses his lips, shaking his head as he turns to look back at him. “There’s no time. We’d never make it past that horde anyway. We have to do this here.”_

_“I don’t like this. You know I don’t like this.” Kuroo shakes his head, feeling desperation rising in him._

_“I know. But it’s the only way. We have to summon it. We have to know what the king is planning.”_

_“What if something goes wrong? What if I lose you?”_

_Kenta steps closer, lifting his hands to place them on either side of Kuroo’s face, holding it firmly. “You’re not going to lose me.”_

“Kenta . . .”

Kuroo doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until he registers three pairs of eyes staring at him. He quickly checks his eyes, making sure no tears have escaped. None have, and he’s about to relax, when he notices that Kozume’s glaring at him, eyes sharp as daggers.

He looks furious.

Kuroo blinks. “Uh.”

Without a word, Kozume sets down the microphone and grabs his bag. Stuffing his game into it, he flings it over his shoulder and quickly heads for the door. Bokuto hurries after him, calling his name. Kuroo turns to Akaashi with a helpless look.

“You were watching him during the entire song with this . . . intense expression,” Akaashi explains, his voice and face betraying nothing. “When he asked you what you were staring at, you answered ‘Kenta.’ I’m not sure I completely understand, but you’ve seemed to upset him.”

_Shit._

Bokuto comes back into the room, frowning. “Dude, you fucked up. Kozume-kun’s really mad. He left.”

Kuroo blinks again. “You let him go alone?” he asks, his chest seizing up for a reason he can’t quite explain.

“Um, yes? He’s not a little kid . . .”

“But it’s almost midnight and he . . . shit.” Kuroo runs to the door, hopping on one foot then the other as he pulls on his shoes. “Sorry guys, I’ll be right back, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for them to reply, simply flings the door open and runs out into the night.

He picks up Kozume’s scent halfway down the block. Not stopping to consider any other options, he follows it quickly, not sure why he’s so frantic to find him.

_[it’s not like he’s actually kenta. you have no reason to worry about him.]_

_But I am worried. I just want to make sure he’s okay._

Kuroo spots him standing on a street corner. Sprinting faster, he starts calling Kozume’s name when he realizes why Kozume is standing frozen beneath a street lamp.

Directly in front of him are about a dozen wolves, eyes glowing red in the dark, teeth glistening as they catch the light. Kuroo knows right away that these aren’t ordinary wolves. They’re watching Kozume closely, waiting for him to start running so they can pounce.

_Why is he just standing there? Why isn’t he using his magic?_

_[he’s weak. insignificant. don’t bother with him. he’s not kenta.]_

_That’s not the point. I can’t leave him here. He could get hurt or die._

_[who cares?]_

_I do._ And Kuroo realizes that it’s the truth. He _does_ care. He’ll care if Kozume gets injured fighting hungry wolves. He’ll feel guilty if he did nothing to help. It doesn’t matter that Kozume isn’t Kenta. Kuroo doesn’t want anything to happen to him.

“Kozume,” he hisses, reaching for him. “Take my hand.”

He knows he can probably fight off two or three wolves by himself. He’s agile and quick, and some of his magic could assist as well. But if he has to take on all of them at once he knows he won’t make it. Neither of them will.

Kozume’s stands stiffly in front of him, not turning to look at him, nor reaching for his hand. His fingers do twitch, but they remain by his side. Carefully moving closer, Kuroo brushes his fingertips against Kozume’s. There’s a jolt, a tremor that runs through Kozume’s body, and he turns his head to look up at Kuroo finally, eyes wide in a pale face. Without thinking of the consequences, Kuroo wraps his hand around Kozume’s and gives it a firm squeeze until he feels Kozume squeezing back.

“Can you run?” he murmurs.

Kozume nods. It’s barely perceptible, but Kuroo catches it. He nods in return, not relinquishing his hold on Kozume’s hand. The wolves begin to growl, and the largest one in front takes a step forward.

“Now!” Kuroo shouts, turning and taking off down the street.

Kozume runs beside him, though his legs are shorter, and he ends up slightly behind. Kuroo keeps a firm grip on him, not slowing down as he hears the howling and the clatter of sharp claws against the pavement as the wolves chase them. His mind scrambles for a solution, for a place to hide where they’ll be safe.

Before he can come up with anything, something heavy lands on his back, and he falls forward onto the street with a grunt. He hears a cry from Kozume as their hands detach, and he grits his teeth. Despite the claws he can feel digging into his back, he jabs his elbow behind him until he comes in contact with the beast. Using all his strength, he pushes himself up and flips over, smacking the animal against the asphalt. It yelps in pain, and Kuroo scrambles to his feet just in time to get attacked from the front. He falls under the weight of the second wolf, quickly shoving his forearm against its neck as its teeth gnash at him, trying to find purchase in his face or neck.

He lifts his other hand, ready to punch the wolf in the stomach, even as the others descend, but then he hears a shout of “NO!” and a blast of white light flies past him, knocking the wolf off and causing it to skid across the ground. Kuroo sits up, glancing over to where Kozume stands, his eyes wide, hand extended with his palm facing outward. He seems surprised that the spell worked, but he doesn’t have time to wonder at it for long, as the next wolf attacks.

Kozume leaps back, but Kuroo’s already there, placing himself between the wolf and Kozume, punching it directly in the face. He feels rather than sees a second magic attack from Kozume, blasting away another beast, and then another. They’re pressed back to back now, and Kuroo uses his fists and feet as best he can to drive back the wolves. The heat of the magic crackles like electricity around them, making the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand on end. It shivers through him, and he uses that power to bring forth his own magic, sending it surging through both his palms like a red beam. Though rusty from lack of use, it’s effective, and it burns through the wolves before him, singing their fur until the sparks become flames.

That’s when they begin to turn tail and run, yapping and growling in pain. They roll on the ground to stifle the fire before running away. Kuroo can’t help but grin in triumph, and he turns around to exclaim about their victory to Kozume. His exclamation dies on his lips, however, as he watches Kozume collapse in the street, his legs buckling beneath him like he no longer has the strength to stand. Kuroo hurries to catch him, lifting him up.

“Let’s get you home,” he says.

Kozume doesn’t respond, but he leans against Kuroo as they make their way toward Kozume’s house.

It’s only when they’re halfway there that Kuroo can’t take the stifling silence any longer and frowns down at Kozume.

“Why didn’t you use your magic right away?” he asks. “Why did you wait so long?”

Kozume flinches, his eyes toward the ground. “I’m not . . . I’m not very good at magic,” he says softly.

“You held your own pretty well during that fight,” Kuroo points out. “You could’ve done that from the start.”

Kozume doesn’t reply, but he seems to shrink further into himself. Kuroo sighs, wondering why Kozume seems to doubt his own ability when it’s obvious his potential is nothing to scoff at. He supposes it’s that anxiety again. He can understand that, honestly. He never felt good enough back 600 years ago and spent many nights wondering why Kenta chose someone like him to stay beside when he had so little to offer.

Kozume’s home comes into view, but Kozume pauses in front of the driveway to Yaku’s house. Kuroo releases him, as Kozume pushes away from him to take tentative steps toward the front door. Kuroo’s chest tightens as he watches, wanting to rush over and continue supporting him. But he remains where he is, shoving his bloodied hands into his pockets instead.

Kozume stops halfway up the driveway, turning to look back at Kuroo. He lifts his hand in a slight wave. “Thank you,” he says, and Kuroo’s stomach flips strangely.

He lifts his hand in reply, forgetting to say anything until Kozume’s already inside the house. He grimaces then, feeling like an idiot. His wounds are starting to register now too, pain flaring across his back and shoulders from the claws that’d ripped through his jacket.

_[that was completely unnecessary. he could’ve handled himself. now we’re wounded.]_

_It was the right thing to do._

_[don’t tell me you’re starting to care for this kid. he’s a weakling. an infant. barely able to stand on his own two feet.]_

_No._ Kuroo shakes his head. A light comes on in the one of the windows of the house, and he tilts his head to look up at it. He remembers the terror in Kozume’s eyes after he fired that blast of magic to help Kuroo. He can still feel the warmth of his magic, the power of it thrumming through his veins, boosting his own. He can’t help but grin faintly, as he thinks on how well they’d fought together.

_No, he’s strong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> put kenma in skirts 2k16
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	8. just one mistake is all it will take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've changed the warnings on this because I realized that the fight scenes are going to get pretty violent, and I want to make sure everyone is prepared for that (starting in this chapter).
> 
> Also, that "Temporary Character Death" tag doesn't just mean Kuroo's in the past. There are going to be a few deaths throughout this, but rest assured that **no one is going to stay dead**. I wouldn't do that to ya'll again.
> 
> I'll just . . . give you the angst without the permanence. XD
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

it is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark,  
and thinking there is one more stair than there is.  
your foot falls down, through the air,  
and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise  
as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.

\-- lemony snicket, _horseradish_

* * *

 

 

For someone not as eloquent or enigmatic as Oikawa, Iwaizumi sure knows how to dodge direct questioning like a pro. When Hanamaki and Issei corner him outside the library before he can begin his tutoring session with Kindaichi, he doesn’t even bat an eye, like he was expecting them to show up with arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Can this wait? I have my kouhai waiting,” Iwaizumi says, attempting to step around the human wall before him.

Hanamaki holds out his hand, causing Iwaizumi to stop short before he can run into it. “Not so fast. This is a very serious and important question, and we’re not going to let you get away with hiding the truth from us any longer.”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “No, Oikawa and I haven’t had sex.”

“What? Fuck. No! That’s not the question!” Hanamaki exclaims, nudging Issei hard in the side when he hears him snickering. “Shut up, that doesn’t count. My bet is still good.”

Iwaizumi simply raises an eyebrow. As Issei recovers, Hanamaki places his hands on his hips, staring directly into Iwaizumi’s face in the hopes of catching a minute change in his expression.

“What’s going on with Oikawa?”

There’s a flinch, barely perceptible but there, and Hanamaki feels his chest tighten, because he can tell that that’s not a good sign. Beside him, Issei falls into grim silence. Pursing his lips, Iwaizumi sighs, running his hand through his hair and scruffing it at the back.

“He’s just . . . he’s just Oikawa. Running himself ragged, not getting enough sleep, not eating unless I shove something under his nose . . . It’s just because of the final exam coming up and the fact that we’re not allowed on assignment anymore. He’s getting antsy.”

“See, that’d make sense,” Hanamaki states, sharing a nod with Issei, “if not for that whole little incident in the clearing the other day. I mean, we were all unnerved by it, but he acted like someone shot his dog in front of him. We’re really worried, man.”

“I am too,” Iwaizumi admits. “But this isn’t something I can deal with right now. I’ve got Kindaichi waiting, and then I have to go make sure that idiot hasn’t skipped dinner again.”

Hanamaki can tell that they’re not going to get anything more out of him. He’s got that tight-jawed look that always appears when Iwaizumi’s chomped down on something with no intention of letting it go. Sighing, he lowers his hands to his sides.

“You’d tell us if there was anything we could do to help, right?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi says quickly, brushing by him then to enter the library.

Frowning, Hanamaki turns to Issei, who looks back at him with a sympathetic nod.

“I know.”

“Fuck this,” Hanamaki says. “You want to go to the fort? I feel like expending some energy.”

“Why do I feel like this is also going to expend _my_ energy?” Issei asks, as he follows Hanamaki out of the building.

“Because ‘go to the fort’ is our code for ‘let’s fuck,’ and has been since we started dating.” Hanamaki taps his knuckle against Issei’s chest with a faint grin.

“Right, right. You know, one of these days we should just go to the fort to go to the fort. Mix things up.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Well, I could nap. That’s fun for me.”

“You’re such a lazy ass,” Hanamaki laughs, folding his hands against the back of his head. “If you’re that tired I don’t mind doing all the work.”

“Mm, you’re too kind.”

“I know I am.”

Issei falls silent, a faint frown flickering over his features. Hanamaki lowers his arms, immediately on the alert.

“What is it?”

“You don’t hear it?”

Hanamaki comes to a stop, tilting his head as he strains to listen. All he can hear are the normal sounds of the city. The rattle of a train in the distance, birds in the trees, cars passing by on a nearby freeway. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, casting everything in long shadows. Issei stands in front of him, back stiff, his gaze toward a nearby park. Hanamaki steps up to stand beside him, following Issei’s line of sight. A dark cloud moves over the tops of the trees, and with a shiver Hanamaki realizes that it’s not a cloud.

Reaching out slowly, he curls his fingers into the edge of Issei’s sleeve.

“Well, they’re early,” he states, doing his best to keep his voice causal, as he begins to back up toward the school.

“Maybe they want to catch the ten o’clock news,” Issei murmurs.

The cloud grows thicker, darkening the sky as it blocks out the setting sun, advancing on the street. Hanamaki hears a sharp cry from nearby. Turning, he sees a couple women with shopping bags turn and begin to run. A car alarm goes off, it’s loud siren adding to the cacophony of shrieks emanating from the horde of imps descending faster and faster.

“Fuck, do you have a weapon?” Hanamaki asks, grabbing his switchblade out of his pocket.

“Why would I have a weapon? These things aren’t supposed to even be out this early in the evening!” 

Behind them, the doors of the school burst open. Iwaizumi comes running out, his crossbow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. In each hand he holds training swords, the serious kind, the ones they’re not allowed to use on each other because they _will_ cut through clothing and skin.

“Makki! Mattsun!”

They turn in unison as Iwaizumi flings the swords at them. They catch them neatly before turning to face the incoming horde, the three of them standing side by side.

“Where’s the kid?” Issei asks, glancing over at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi’s eyes remain fixed on the demons ahead. “I told Kindaichi and Kunimi to stay inside and call the DHS. They should be here soon, we’ll just have to hold them off until then.”

“It’s too bad Oikawa couldn’t join in the fun,” Hanamaki mutters, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them. He twirls his sword, thinking that if Oikawa were there it’d be perfect. The four of them always worked best with their captain at the helm.

“It’s better if he’s not here,” Iwaizumi states firmly, but before he can elaborate, the imps attack.

Hanamaki immediately jumps to defend Iwaizumi’s right, while Issei covers his left. That leaves the back open, but they make do, twirling to one side and then the next. Hanamaki grips his sword tightly; sweat making his grip slick within the first few minutes of the fight. The imps are honestly horrifying. With their beady eyes in their ugly smashed in faces, they look like what you’d get if you combined a newborn’s face with a pug’s. And then there are the claws. They’re sharp and quick, and Hanamaki struggles to keep them at bay with his sword, ending up on the defensive more often than not.

The imps swarm around them, screeching and howling like they’re at a rave or something. Hanamaki’s ears feel like they might start bleeding at any moment, but he grits his teeth and fights through it, knowing that they only scream like that to disorient you. The sound isn’t loud enough to cause any actual damage.

“Makki, to your right!” Iwaizumi shouts.

Hanamaki turns just in time to skewer an imp through the stomach before its claws can reach him. He yanks his sword free, grimacing as he rubs his arm over his forehead to rid it of sweat.

“There’s too fucking many of them!” Hanamaki exclaims, able to see that they’re barely making a dent. The street is writhing with the creatures; they’re climbing on top of each other in their haste to get at the three.

Iwaizumi purses his lip. “We’re going to have to split up,” he says. “I’ll draw as many as I can away from here. Will you two be okay?”

“Us? What about you? You can’t go—” Hanamaki pauses to stab an imp in the throat, kicking it off his sword as it gurgles, “—off by yourself! Not with this many!”

Before Iwaizumi can reply, they hear a shout from behind them.

“Iwaizumi! To me!”

Hanamaki glances over to see one of their coaches, a man not much older than themselves, waving a sword of his own above his head.

“Coach Mizoguchi!” Iwaizumi gives Hanamaki a nod, before whacking an imp upside the head. “Yeah, come on bastards! Come get me!” He takes off at a run toward Mizoguchi, and imps begin to break off from the group to follow him, screeching in dismay at the thought of their prey escaping.

That still leaves Issei and Hanamaki with a good chunk of demons, however, and Hanamaki grits his teeth. “When is the fucking Dick Hunter Squad going to get here?” he mutters.

“Maybe this isn’t the only attack,” Issei says.

Hanamaki doesn’t like the thought of that.

He can feel his muscles beginning to burn. He twirls and jumps, slashing and hacking as hard as he can with his sword, but it doesn’t seem to make a dent. The imps just keep coming, scratching and clawing and shrieking. Hanamaki flinches as he ducks too late and gets a claw across the forehead. Blood drips down into his eyes, obscuring his vision, but he continues to swing and thrust, his footing sure despite his difficulty seeing. He supposes those hours of practice every day really do pay off.

“Makki! You’re bleeding!”

Issei turns to him, free hand outstretched. Hanamaki feels his heart jump into his throat, as an imp leaps forward, claws extended.

“Behind you!”

Issei turns, but not fast enough. The imp’s claws plunge deep into his side, and Issei falls with a shout of pain. Hanamaki doesn’t hesitate. Swinging his sword with all his strength, he lops off the head of the imp on top of his best friend, his lover. It falls over, disintegrating, and Hanamaki stands over Issei, holding his sword with both hands now. His muscles are fatigued, trembling, but he plants his feet, swinging again and again to push back the imps.

“Stay back, fuckers!” he shouts, as Issei presses his hands against the bleeding wound in his side, grimacing in pain. Hanamaki doesn’t have magic, but he feels as though he can sense Issei’s pain. His own side burns, and he blinks away the blood still sliding into his stinging eyes.

There are fewer imps, he can tell that even now, but there’s still too many of them for him to take on by himself. He swings his sword wildly, screaming as loudly as he can in the hopes of intimidating them. It works to some degree; they pause, hesitating, hissing at him. He knows imps aren’t very smart. They don’t have the same fear of death as other, smarter demons do. But they apparently have some sense of self-preservation.

“Can you stand?” he shouts, speaking to Issei, as he keeps his eyes on the creatures surrounding them.

“I-I’m not sure,” Issei says, and his voice sounds weak.

Hanamaki drops to one knee beside Issei, reaching for his hand. Issei clasps it tightly.

“We’re going to have to try to run for it,” he says, though he knows it’ll likely be a futile attempt.

Issei probably knows it too, but he purses his lips and nods. Hanamaki thinks he should say something. Something deep and meaningful, perfect for his last words. A declaration of love, perhaps.

“Issei,” he breathes, but before he can continue, the imps begin to shriek again, drowning out his voice. He looks up, bracing himself for an onslaught, but the imps have turned away from him and Issei and are facing a newcomer.

From his place on the ground, Hanamaki can’t see who the fighter is, but he can see the wide red arc of their blade, slicing through the imps as smoothly as cutting warm butter. The imps scream and flap their wings, hopping around angrily. Hanamaki hears a shout, “GET DOWN!” and ducks, shielding Issei with his own body, breathing hard.

He feels a rush of something hot sear across his back, leaving every vein in his body tingling with the aftershock of electricity like he’d stuck his finger in a socket. There’s a loud screech, dozens of imps crying out at once, and then silence.

Tentatively, he lifts his head. Their savior stands alone with his back to them, a plain sword held in a loose grasp at his side. Red sparks dance across the long, sharp fingernails of his free hand, until he curls them into a fist. There’s something familiar about his stance, the brown curls of his hair, the slope of his shoulders.

Hanamaki squints. “Oikawa?”

The man turns his head, just a fraction over his shoulder, and Hanamaki catches a glimpse of Oikawa’s profile, his eye glowing crimson. Quickly, Hanamaki scrubs the blood out of his eyes with his hand, clearing his vision. When he opens them again, however, the street before him is empty.

“T-Takahiro,” Issei coughs, and Hanamaki quickly returns his attention to his boyfriend.

“Shit, sorry. Let me see it.”

Gently, he pulls Issei’s hand away from the wound. It doesn’t look as bad as he initially thought. The bleeding has slowed, and no major organs appear to have been hit. Still, he pulls his phone out of his pocket to dial for an ambulance, knowing it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Was that Oikawa who saved us?”

“I don’t know,” Hanamaki states honestly as he listens to the ring.

 _If it was, he and Iwaizumi have a_ lot _of explaining to do_.

 

***

 

The object of the Nekoma Institute of Magic isn’t to create fighters. They teach their students the art of magic, how to practically apply it in everyday life, how to heal and serve and grow. It’s a peaceful place of learning. There’s only one self-defense class required, and once you pass your third year at the school it becomes an elective. Optional.

In order for Nekoma to be able to accomplish this despite the dangers lurking near the Hell Mouth, they have a contract with Aoba Johsai. The students of that school that go on to graduate and become members of the Demon Hunting Syndicate must protect the students of Nekoma if it ever comes down to it. In return, the Witches’ Council supplies Aoba Johsai with weapons blessed and cursed to aide in their fight against the demons. A blessed weapon can wound any demon, and a cursed one inflicts pain beyond that of a normal injury. The witches of Nekoma must also be willing to assist any hunter if the need arises. To either heal or patch a wound sustained in battle or simply offer them other blessed objects that might help keep them alive and well.

So really it isn’t surprising that when the first shrieks flood the air, Yaku shoves Lev behind some shrubbery by the sidewalk they’d been strolling down on their way to Kenma’s. Lev yelps softly, as Yaku’s fingers are small and jab him hard in the side.

“Get down and be _quiet_ ,” Yaku hisses, crouching behind the shrub.

Lev follows suit, ducking his head to try and fit in the tight space. He huffs. “You should’ve chosen a bigger bush, Yaku-san. This one’s too small for me.”

He’s rewarded for this complaint with an elbow in the side. Lev frowns rubbing the spot. He can’t help but feel his body tense, however, as the shrieks of the imps get louder. Yaku’s stiff as a statue beside him, every part of him rigid. Lev can see the way his fingers are curling into the grass beneath them, knuckles white.

He wants to reach out and lay his hand over Yaku’s, to reassure him that everything’s going to be okay. Their hiding place is a good one, and he’s not going to do anything to draw attention to them. But he’s not sure if that’s allowed. Would Yaku pull away at his touch? Would he elbow him again? Most of the time Lev doesn’t mind Yaku’s kicks and punches, because it means Yaku’s paying attention to him and attention from his best friends is something he craves daily. But right now he feels a twist of nervousness in his stomach, and he doesn’t think it’d be very nice to receive punishment for attempting comfort.

A particularly loud screech has Lev starting in surprise, quickly placing his hands over his ears to try and block out the sound. It’s accompanied by a scream of terror, and curiosity causes Lev to peek out from behind the bush. That one sounded human.

“Haiba, get down,” Yaku hisses beside him.

“But there’s a lady out there,” Lev whispers, his eyes trained on the woman cowering in fear by her car, arms flung up over her head. “We should help her.”

Yaku bites his lip, peering out himself. He sighs, a giant one that seems to shake his entire body. “Stay here,” he commands sharply, before standing and jogging across the road.

Lev bites his lip, chewing on it as he watches Yaku swerve around a diving imp to grab the woman’s arm. She balks at his touch, shaking her head and pointing to her car. Lev can’t hear what they’re saying from his hiding spot, but he knows that frustrated look on Yaku’s face. It makes his eyes get all squinty and his nose wrinkle up. It’s cute, like a mouse.

Now’s not the time to think about how cute Yaku is, though. More imps are falling from the sky, and though they seem to be heading toward Aoba Johsai, a few catch sight of Yaku and the struggling woman and slow, dropping to the street beside them. Lev can’t stay still now that Yaku is in danger, so he leaps to his feet and races across the street.

“I’ll save you, Yaku-san!” he calls, hand already outstretched. Yaku whirls around, his face red with anger, but Lev doesn’t focus on that. Instead, he speaks the incantation he’d been practicing, sending the imp closest to Yaku flying through the air to smack against a lamppost and fall limp to the ground.

“Did you see that? Did you see it? That was awesome!”

“Get back to the bush!” Yaku yells at him, not seeming to appreciate the fact that Lev just saved his life.

“But I can help!” Lev exclaims, turning to demonstrate.

As he does, an imp slams into him, knocking him to the ground. Instantly Lev feels dizzy, and he shakes his head to clear it. There’s something sharp scratching against his sides, and through his daze he knows that it’s the claws of the creature. He shoves his hands against the imp’s chest, shouting the spell for destruction. Immediately the imp bursts into particles.

Lev sits up, turning to ask Yaku if he’d seen _that_ one (which was admittedly even _more_ awesome than the last spell), but his friend is busy blasting back more imps with light from his palm, the woman huddled behind him. Lev jumps to his feet, hastening to Yaku’s side.

Before he can reach him, an imp leaps into his path. Lev yelps, stumbling back. The imp hops toward him, leering at him with pointed teeth. Lev lifts his hand again, but before he can shout off the spell, a knife whirls past him, thudding into the imp’s face between its eyes. Startled, Lev watches dumbly as the imp falls over, disintegrating slowly, leaving the knife behind. Dubiously, he bends to retrieve it.

“Thanks, man!” A hand plucks the knife from Lev’s grasp, and a man with dyed blonde hair with a brown undercut steps in front of him. He winks, deftly twirling the knife between his fingers. “We can take it from here.”

Lev takes a step back, blinking. Looking around, he sees that several other men have joined the fight, using shiny weapons to fight back the imps. They move together in what appears to be synchronized madness, each taking down an imp on their own yet somehow moving as a cohesive unit. It takes a moment, but then Lev notices the embroidered patch on the back of all their jackets: two arrows crossed over the initials “DHS.”

“You’re the Demon Hunting Syndicate!” Lev exclaims.

“One of the best squadrons, if you ask me!” the man says, saluting Lev with a grin.

“That’s so cool!”

“Haiba!” Yaku storms over, looking furious. With the imps now busy fighting the newcomers, he grabs Lev’s arm and yanks him away from the fight, pulling him down the street before Lev has a chance to say goodbye to the cool squadron leader.

“Ow! Yaku-san, you’re hurting my wrist!”

Yaku doesn’t release him or relax his grip; instead he continues to drag him, walking incredibly fast for how small his legs are. Lev contemplates commenting on this, has the exclamation ready on his tongue, but he bites back the words before they can escape, knowing now probably isn’t the time to gush over how little and cute Yaku is.

“I told you to stay put. I had things under control. You needlessly put yourself in danger, and for what? It’s not like you know how to fight. You could’ve been killed!”

As the shrieks and whoops of victory from the squadron fade behind them, Lev becomes more aware of the rage in Yaku’s voice. It strikes him as odd that he would be _this_ angry over Lev’s (successful) attempt at assistance. He stops short in the road, pulling Yaku to a stop as well.

“Yaku-san, are you mad at me?” he asks curiously, wanting to make sure he’s not just hearing things.

Yaku turns on him, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you! You’re an idiot! You put yourself in danger after I _specifically_ told you not to! What do you think you are? A hunter? A damn _faerie_? You’re a kid, Lev! You’re just a fucking kid, and you could’ve _died_ . . .” He trails off, scrubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

Lev stares at him, stunned. “Yaku-san . . . are you crying?” he asks, unable to believe what he’s seeing. He’s never, in his entire time knowing Yaku, seen him cry.

“No, shut up. I’m not crying,” Yaku sniffs, releasing his hand to face his back toward Lev.

Lev can’t help but grin. Yaku’s _crying_ over _him_. Because he was scared of losing him! That has to mean that Yaku cares about him. It _has_ to.

“Aww, Yaku-san. It’s okay. I’m right here! I didn’t die. So everything’s okay.” He steps forward, taking a chance and wrapping his arms around Yaku from behind to hug him tightly. He bends to press his cheek against the top of Yaku’s head, nuzzling his hair gently to breathe in the scent of his shampoo. It’s a fresh smell, and the strands of hair tickling his nose are soft.

Yaku stiffens in the hug initially, and Lev’s afraid that he’ll pull away, maybe kick him, but he holds on resolutely and eventually Yaku sighs, his small, tense body relaxing as the air leaves him.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Mm.” Lev smooshes his face deeper into Yaku’s hair, a warm, happy feeling spreading through his chest.

“I mean it, Lev.”

Lev grins, surprised that Yaku’s letting him hold on for this long but not about to question it. “Okay, Yaku-san. I promise I won’t.”

He feels a light jab to his stomach from Yaku’s elbow, not nearly hard enough to hurt, but he takes that as his signal to let go. He does so reluctantly, stepping back and ignoring the tingle that spreads across his skin from the loss of warmth.

“Come on, we should check on Kenma,” Yaku says, squaring his shoulders and walking once more.

Lev easily catches up to him. He bites his lip, fingers twitching, and he starts to reach across to take Yaku’s hand, but his friend moves to put his hands in his pockets, leaving Lev grasping at empty air.

He sighs softly, and sticks the hand into his own pocket. He supposes not every step can be taken in a single day.

 

***

 

 

“Kindaichi, this is stupid.” Kunimi frowns faintly, as he follows his friend out the back door of the school toward the training grounds. He’s clutching the sword Kindaichi shoved at him earlier, not thinking it would do much in an actual fight seeing as a gun would be simpler, and he’s never used one in the field before.

“Iwaizumi-san told us to stay inside,” he reminds Kindaichi, shaking his head.

“He might need our help. I can’t just sit around and wait to be rescued by the DHS while he’s out here risking his _life_.” Kindaichi’s jaw is set in a firm line, eyes flashing with determination.

Kunimi rolls his own eyes, wondering why his friend has to be so stupidly heroic. A smarter man, like himself, would know that their skills aren’t nearly advanced enough for real combat. Yet he supposes he’s rather idiotic as well, since he’s out here right beside Kindaichi.

_It’s just so I can watch his back. I know better than to go running headlong into danger._

“Iwaizumi-san can handle himself. He doesn’t need our help.”

“You don’t know that.” 

Kunimi sighs, not feeling like arguing anymore. He can hear the sound of shrieks behind them, the shouts of men and screams of pedestrians. He hopes the DHS has arrived and will take care of the entire situation before they have a chance to stumble across any monsters.

“So where are we going exactly? The fight’s back that way.” Kunimi gestures over his shoulder.

Kindaichi barely glances over. “They would’ve split up the imps as best they could to make them easier to fight. The training grounds has a large flat surface that’d be easy to fight on, as well as the obstacle course we can hide in. I’m positive Iwaizumi-san would’ve drawn them this way.”

“Wow, Kindaichi-kun, that actually sounded smart.”

Kindaichi flushes, the back of his neck turning pink. It’s cute.

“I can be smart!”

Kunimi fights a laugh. It quickly dies in his throat, however, when they come to the crest of the hill behind the school and look down into the training grounds. As Kindaichi predicted, Iwaizumi is there, fighting alongside a man Kunimi recognizes as Coach Mizoguchi. They’re surrounded by a horde of imps, making decent headway through their ranks. Kunimi places his hand on Kindaichi’s arm.

“It looks like they have things under control,” he says.

Kindaichi shakes his head. “No, there’s still too many of them.” He turns to look down at Kunimi, biting his lip. “You don’t have to come with me if you’re scared, Kunimi-kun.”

Kunimi grits his teeth. “I’m not scared,” he lies, hoping Kindaichi can’t hear the rapid pounding of his heart.

Kindaichi gives him a small, wavering smile. “I am,” he admits, before turning to look back down at the fight below. He squares his shoulders, raising his chin. “But Iwaizumi-san needs me. And if we’re going to be good hunters, we have to start somewhere.”

Kunimi stares at his friend’s profile, not sure why he suddenly feels the urge to cling to him and beg him not to go down there. He swallows hard instead, nodding. “Okay.”

Kindaichi begins to run, carefully navigating his way down the hill. Kunimi inhales deeply, exhaling as much of his anxiety as he can, before charging down after him.

They hit the horde right where it’s thickest. Kunimi raises his sword at the same time Kindaichi does, immediately hacking and stabbing into whatever black, hopping body is closest. The stench is terrible. Like wet dog crossed with rotten eggs. Kunimi struggles to breathe, as he fights in fluid movements, his footing sure and his strikes quick. It’s just like math really. Knowing the angles and the focal points at which to thrust, taking into account the length of his sword and the diameter of his fighting area, he’s able to make rapid hits and retreat to a safe distance fairly easily.

He breaks out in a sweat from exertion soon because of all the hopping forward and then back, but using this method he finds himself without a scratch, able to leap away from the reaching claws in time to avoid them. Kindaichi, he sees, isn’t fairing as well. He’s slamming into imps left and right, using elbows and feet and his fists to make contact with as many creatures as he can. His face is drawn in a grimace of concentration, and he’s already bleeding from several scratches on his arms and sides.

“Kindaichi! Kunimi! What the fuck are you doing?” Iwaizumi’s spotted them and starts to move closer, clutching arrows in both his fists, using them like knives to stab and slice his way over to them.

“We came to help!” Kindaichi shouts. “Don’t worry, Iwaizumi-san! We’ve got your back!”

“You don’t—” Iwaizumi cuts himself off, ducking to avoid a flying imp. He leans to the side, jabbing up with his arrow to catch the imp in the gut before rolling away as it hits the ground.

“We’re already here, Iwaizumi-san,” Kunimi says, stepping over to grab his arm and help him to his feet. “Might as well let us help.”

Iwaizumi scowls darkly, but he simply nods, turning quickly to resume his fighting. Kunimi finds himself surrounded again, the imps grinning with their pointed teeth, leering at him. Shivers move through him, and he quickly slams his sword into those smirking faces, knowing they’ll haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

After a while, Kunimi loses all sense of time and his surroundings outside his immediate present. All he can see is black fur and glowing eyes, grinning teeth, and blue blood. The ground is slick with it. He’s breathing in the smell of sweat and rotten eggs. It’s enough to make him gag, but he can’t stop to think about that. He tries to hear Kindaichi, tries to make out where he’s gone, but the imps keep coming, and he finds himself retreating, taking steps backwards toward the hill behind him (at least, he thinks it’s behind him).

_Is this where I die?_

It’s a surprisingly calming thought. It’s not that he _wants_ to die. But he’s tired of fighting. He wonders what would happen if he simply lets his weary sword arm fall to his side. If he just closes his eyes and lets the imps overtake him. 

He stumbles. Falling, he loses his grip on his sword. He ducks his head, protecting it as best he can with his arms, as he’s surrounded by the sound of leathery wings and loud, inhuman screeches.

“Kunimi-kun!”

Kunimi flinches, lowering his arms to see Kindaichi, bleeding from dozens of scratches, leap in front of him, slicing through the first line of imps with one fell swoop. As the imps scream and hop backwards, he turns, grabbing Kunimi’s arm and yanking him to his feet.

“Come on! Oikawa-san is here. I think we’re beating them back. Don’t give up now!”

“I wasn’t . . .” Kunimi blinks, finding his sword suddenly thrust into his hand. He grips it tightly despite his aching fingers, the blisters forming on his palm.

Looking up, he sees Iwaizumi and Oikawa standing back to back. Oikawa’s sword seems to shimmer with red light as it twirls and arcs through the air. The imps in front of Kindaichi and Kunimi turn to join the rest of their horde around the two. Kunimi can’t see where Coach Mizoguchi went, but then he spots him, huddled on the ground with one arm bleeding profusely, the hand of his other pressed against the wound. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are beside him, and Iwaizumi’s arm is nearly a blur as it grabs arrows and fits them to his crossbow before firing in rapid succession.

“Come on! We need to get Coach Mizoguchi out of here!” Kindaichi says, grabbing Kunimi’s arm and tugging him toward the three. “He’s hurt!”

Kunimi bites back a sarcastic reply to that, simply forcing his feet to quicken their pace, following Kindaichi back into the fray.

“Oi! You two!” Iwaizumi shouts when he sees them, not slowing down his attack. “Get Coach back to the school and stay there!”

“Right!” Kindaichi actually salutes, before grabbing Mizoguchi’s good arm and helping him to his feet.

“I can’t believe a bunch of kids out fought me,” he grumbles, glaring at Kunimi as though he’s personally responsible for his injury.

Kunimi rolls his eyes, moving around to guard their retreat. His back to Kindaichi and the coach, he holds his sword in front of him, ready to beat back anything that tried to follow them.

Thankfully, they seem to be preoccupied with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. They make an impressive duo, he has to admit. The way they move is like a dance. While Iwaizumi takes out those imps in the back of the horde, Oikawa ducks and weaves around him, keeping back any monsters that try to get at Iwaizumi with practiced ease. Kunimi thinks he can even hear him laughing, like it’s just a game.

Shaking his head, Kunimi turns back around, hurrying after Kindaichi and Mizoguchi, as they make their way over the top of the hill and head for the school.

They almost make it. Kunimi can see the double doors ahead of them, the promise of shelter and safety. His steps slow, begin to lag in relief. Kindaichi and Mizoguchi pull further ahead of him, but it’s okay. Because the imps are behind them, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi are taking care of them.

He doesn’t see the imp flying toward them until it’s directly above. It shrieks, startling the three. In the few seconds it takes for them to they look up in dismay, it dives at Kindaichi and Mizoguchi, taking them both down in a single hit. Kunimi flinches, watching the three collapse on the ground. The wings of the imp beat against Kindaichi’s face, as its claws pierce his chest. He screams in pain, and the sound jolts Kunimi out of his stunned daze. He leaps forward with a yell, stabbing the point of his blade as far into the imp’s back as he can manage, using all his strength.

The imp screeches, flopping over and twitching in its death throes before lying still. Kunimi doesn’t wait for it to disintegrate. He releases his sword, kneeling beside Kindaichi and pressing his hands over the puncture wound above Kindaichi’s heart. Coach Mizoguchi doesn’t move from where he fell (Kunimi assumes he hit his head, but he can’t focus on that).

“Fuck, fuck.” It’s all Kunimi can think of to say, as the blood seeps from between his fingers, staining his hands and Kindaichi’s clothes.

“K-Kunimi-kun . . .” Kindaichi winces, his fingers clutching at Kunimi’s arm. “Is-Is it bad?”

“Shut up, you’re going to be fine,” Kunimi says, but he knows he’s lying. By the time anyone arrives to help it’ll be too late. Already he can see the light in Kindaichi’s eyes dimming.

“I-I mean, what kind of hunter are you if let a single imp defeat you? Dumbass.” Kunimi swallows hard past the lump in his throat, his eyes burning.

Kindaichi gives him a tiny, crooked smile. “You can’t be mean to me when I’m injured. That’s . . . that’s not fair.”

“I’m not—” Kunimi stops, as Kindaichi suddenly clutches his arm tightly, nails digging into his skin.

“I-I don’t want to die. Kunimi-kun? I don’t want to-to die.” Tears slip from Kindaichi’s eyes down toward his ears.

Kunimi opens his mouth to again state that he’s going to be fine, but before he can Kindaichi’s grip loosens. His arm falls limp to the side, and Kunimi can tell that the blood flow has slowed already.

He curls his fingers into Kindaichi’s shirt, clenching the soaked material tightly. “No,” he mutters, shaking his head. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

He won’t let it happen.

“No, you’re not doing this to me. No.” He shakes his head again, muttering no under his breath as his brain scrambles to think of a solution. There has to be a solution. They’re _demon_ hunters, damn it! They live in a world of supernatural occurrences and magic. Death doesn’t have to hold any meaning.

Without stopping to think of the consequences, without considering that perhaps he should wait for Iwaizumi and Oikawa to assist him, Kunimi backs away from Kindaichi’s body just enough to being drawing in the dirt, Kindaichi’s blood smearing across the grass. He knows the correct symbol. He’s seen it countless times in books in Aoba Johsai’s library. So really it’s a logical solution. It’s worked in the past. There are records. Surely it’ll work for him as well.

Once the pentagram is complete, Kunimi grabs Kindaichi’s arm, pulling him into it before speaking the incantation. He’s never practiced it before, but he knows it’s correct.

He’s surprised by how quickly it works. A dark cloud of smoke billows up from the center of the pentagram, writhing and twisting in the air like a living thing. (Though, Kunimi supposes it is).

“A child calls to me?” the smoke asks, it’s voice scornful, on the verge of a scoff. “Please don’t tell me you’re wishing for a pony.”

Kunimi stares at the smoke blank-faced. He doesn’t have time for banter. “You’re the demon Kigashi? Can you resurrect him?” he asks, pointing to Kindaichi’s prone form.

The smoke is silent for a moment, growing still. When it speaks again, its voice is quiet, serious. “Do you understand what you’re asking, child?”

Kunimi purses his lips. “Yes.”

The smoke rotates slowly through the space above Kindaichi, seemingly contemplative. “You’re willing to sacrifice your soul to save this boy?”

Kunimi glances down at Kindaichi, biting his lip. If he ignores the blood on his chest, he can almost imagine that Kindaichi’s asleep. The planes of his youthful face are smooth, just a hint of baby fat around his cheeks. His hair is stuck up in that ridiculous hairstyle despite the sweat pressing strands against his temples, and Kunimi’s chest clenches at the thought of never being able to make fun of it again. Of never again seeing Kindaichi smile or hearing his voice, his laugh, the way he always calls him “Kunimi-kun” out of respect even though he knows Kunimi’s given name. Has known it since they were twelve, and Kunimi whispered it into his ear one rainy day at home, cheeks flushed and heart pounding.

He wants to be able to hear Kindaichi call him by his given name.

“Yes.”

The smoke sighs. “Very well. If you know the consequences and will adhere to the contract set before you, I will grant your wish. What is your name?”

Kunimi crosses his arms over his chest tightly, feeling a shiver run through him. “Kunimi Akira.”

“Kunimi Akira, your soul now belongs to me, in exchange for this boy’s life. If I ever have need for you, you will obey me. If I see fit to call you down to Hell to serve me, you will do so willingly. Is this understood?”

Kunimi’s skin crawls like a million tiny needles are sticking him, but he nods, resolute in his decision.

The world is better off with Kindaichi than him anyway.

The smoke disappears, gone without fanfare. It’s rather anticlimactic, in a way, but Kunimi doesn’t care. He stares at Kindaichi, not feeling like he’d just lost his soul. He doesn’t feel anything but the tingle of anticipation.

The blood doesn’t disappear, but the wounds close up, sealing over slowly like an invisible thread is pulling the skin together. Kunimi stares in wonder, realizing that there isn’t going to be any scarring.

Although he’s expecting it, Kunimi still jumps a little when Kindaichi inhales sharply, and his eyes flutter open. He sits up slowly, clutching at his chest to feel the holes in his shirt, the drying blood. He turns to look at Kunimi, eyes wide. Kunimi can only stare back, his heart in his throat.

“Kunimi-kun?”

“What are you two still doing here? I told you to get inside!” Iwaizumi’s voice carries over from where he and Oikawa step over the crest of the hill.

Kindaichi scrambles to his feet, and Kunimi casually grabs his sword, wiping it clean on the pentagram to smudge it into nonexistence. Behind him, Mizoguchi groans, and Kindaichi turns quickly to assist him, yelping an apology.

Iwaizumi shakes his head at them, going over to help and berating Kindaichi for waiting so long to get their coach inside. Oikawa, however, lingers back, his eyes studying Kunimi closely. Kunimi looks back at him, keeping his mask intact as best he can.

_Does he know what I did? Can he tell . . .?_

But that doesn’t make any sense. Only a magic user might be able to figure out what he’d done, and as far as he knows none of his classmates at Aoba Johsai know anything about magic (except, perhaps, Yahaba).

“I’ve never seen you so scruffy, Kunimi-kun!” Oikawa sings, his expression relaxing into a grin, though his eyes remain sharp as ever. “It’s a good look on you. You applied yourself! Well done.” He pats Kunimi on the shoulder, his hand squeezing just a little too hard.

Kunimi barely suppresses a wince. “Thank you, Oikawa-san,” he murmurs, bowing slightly.

Shrugging off the hand, he jogs to catch up with the others, feeling that calculating gaze fixed on him as he goes.

_I did the right thing. Nobody can convince me otherwise._

It’s what he wholeheartedly believes, so he’s not sure why he feels a trickle of dread settling around his brain and seeping into his chest, tightening it sharply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um, oops? /hides
> 
> the next chapter will slow things down a bit again and we'll get some fluff, I promise!
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	9. meant to be my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you all are thinking: didn't she just update two days ago? but listen, LISTEN, I needed to write this. I NEEDED to
> 
> I hope you all enjoy /)u(\

 

 

 

true progress quietly and persistently moves along without notice.

\-- st. francis of assisi

* * *

 

 

The governor of the Miyagi prefecture puts all of Sendai under martial law following the imp attacks. The attacks occurred throughout the entire city, over forty attacks in all. The DHS managed to cull the majority of the imps, but enough damage was caused and enough people injured or killed for Governor Mikoshiba to place a curfew on the city. With the DHS and local police enforcing this curfew, no one is allowed outside after sundown unless they have written permission from an officer, a DHS member, or the governor himself.

This doesn’t stop Iwaizumi from climbing out his window and making his way a couple doors down to Tooru’s. He scales the outside of the house with ease, carefully opening Tooru’s window to drop into his bedroom on light feet. Tooru is sitting on his bed, holding a stuffed alien close to his chest, in socked feet and his stupid glow-in-the-dark alien head pajama bottoms. His shirt is also stupid, gray with a large alien head with a speech bubble that says “ayyy lmao,” which Iwaizumi doesn’t understand at all. He thinks it’s an American thing.

Tooru’s legs are crossed, and he’s staring at his laptop, glasses perched on his nose, large headphones in place. Iwaizumi doubts he even heard him come in. He shuts the window to keep out the chill, before sneaking over to grab Tooru’s arm suddenly.

“Boo.”

Tooru shrieks, flailing and almost kicking his laptop off his bed. Iwaizumi cackles, as Tooru quickly pulls off his headphones and glares at him.

“Iwa-chan! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“It’s your own fault for watching creepy alien movies in the dark,” Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes to step over and flip on the light.

Tooru hugs his alien closer to his chest, pouting. “It adds to the experience. Don’t hate on me when you can’t sit through even one of my creepy alien movies because you’re too scared.” He sticks his tongue out at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi walks back to pick up his pillow and whack him with it, knocking his glasses off his nose.

“Eek, Iwa- _chan_!”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, closing the laptop and setting it aside in order to sit down on the bed across from his best friend. He watches Tooru scramble for his glasses and set them back, adjusting them. He’s pretty sure he’ll never understand how Tooru’s able to manipulate a glamor to make himself look human, yet he can’t fix his own eyesight. It’s somewhat of a relief, however, that apparently Tooru’s demon senses aren’t strong enough to give him perfect eyesight. He’s not sure what’ll happen if the day comes when Tooru no longer needs corrective lenses.

“Why are you here?” Tooru asks then, setting his alien on his lap. “There’s a curfew, you know.”

“Like a curfew is going to stop me from seeing my best friend.” Iwaizumi shakes his head, instantly regretting his words when Tooru grins at him.

“Awww, Iwa-chan is so cheesy!”

“Shut up.” Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, heat prickling across his skin. He looks away, noticing the new posters on Tooru’s wall. He recognizes a couple that he ended up buying for him, but there are others that don’t look familiar. One in particular stands out.

It’s a print of a painting, and it shows the top half of a knight in battered armor. His eyes are closed, and his hands are clasped around the hilt of a sword, which is pointing down toward the earth. His head is slightly bowed, a gesture of submission. He’s dirtied and bloodied like he just emerged from a battle victorious and is now kneeling in front of his king, waiting to be bestowed a blessing of gratitude.

“That’s new,” he says, nodding toward it. He looks back at Tooru, who turns his face to study the new print. Iwaizumi finds himself distracted by the fine lines of Tooru’s throat, the curve of his neck that stands out sharply in his pale skin.

“Oh. I don’t really know why I got that one. It just . . . stood out to me.” Tooru tilts his head slightly, glancing back at Iwaizumi. “I think it reminds me of you.”

Iwaizumi blinks back at him. “Of me?”

A soft blush of pink colors Tooru’s cheeks, traveling up from his neck. He looks down at the alien in his lap, squeezing it gently. “Kings have knights, don’t they?” he asks quietly.

Iwaizumi’s chest tightens. He remembers that night in the forest, the moment when Tooru let everything out, about the nightmares, the sleepwalking, the whispering inside him to “open his present.” Iwaizumi’s not an idiot. He knows what’s inside that present as clearly as Tooru does. Somebody wants Tooru to open the Hell Mouth, and from what Tooru told him about the dreams it seems likely that it’s Tooru’s own father goading him to do it.

Iwaizumi’s pretty sure he hates the guy.

“Hey.” He waits for Tooru to look up at him before continuing. “Don’t think like that, okay? You’re not going to become King of the Underworld or any bullshit like that. That’s not going to happen.”

“But what if I’m not strong enough to resist it?” Tooru asks, biting his lip. “Every day I feel like I’m slipping closer to the edge. And sometimes I _do_ want to open it, if only to look my dad in the eye and tell him to _stop_ bothering me. Sometimes I think . . . what if I could defeat him? What if I could open it and just . . . destroy everything inside it?”

Iwaizumi swallows hard. “That’s a valid thought, I guess,” he admits. “But even if you can become powerful enough to do that it’s a risk I don’t think you should take.”

“I feel like that’s what’s going to happen anyway,” Tooru says, shaking his head. He draws his knees up to his chest, squishing the alien as he wraps his arms around them. “I have to become powerful enough to defeat him. I can’t take the risk of something happening, and I’m not prepared.”

Iwaizumi nods, guessing that’s as good a plan as any. “Fine, but I’m going to train with you, okay? I’m not going to let you overwork yourself. And if I feel like the demon is getting too strong, I’m going to make you stop.”

Tooru smiles crookedly. “Iwa-chan, how are you going to make me stop if the demon is too strong?”

Iwaizumi huffs. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Mm, Iwa-chan is always so smart.”

“Shut up.”

They both fall silent, Tooru picking absently at the bottoms of his pants. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say. He kind of wants to move closer, wrap his arms around his friend and comfort him, kiss him and assure him that everything’s going to be okay. But he’s not one to sugarcoat things or lie about the obvious truth. He has no idea if everything’s going to be okay or not. He has no idea if at the end of all this Tooru is even going to still be Tooru. He can’t offer empty promises like that. It’s not fair.

“You’d make a shitty king anyway,” he says instead, and he feels better at the squawk of indignation Tooru gives, dodging the alien that’s flung at his head.

“See? Exactly what I mean,” he laughs, and Tooru crosses his arms in a pout. Reaching over, he ruffles Tooru’s hair, shoving his head to the side. “You’re a giant baby.”

“Maybe Iwa-chan could be nicer,” Tooru says, reaching up to fix his hair.

“You like it when I’m mean to you,” Iwaizumi teases, and then realizes how suggestive that sounds. He flushes, looking away before he can catch Tooru’s expression. He clears his throat, standing to pick up the alien and set it back on the bed, mentally apologizing to it for being the cause of its harsh journey across the room.

“Hajime.”

The use of his given name causes Iwaizumi to pause. His fingers linger on the alien’s bulbous head, and he lifts his gaze to catch Tooru’s. He’s leaning over his knees, face half-hidden as he rests his chin on his folded arms atop them.

“If I was the demon king, I could order them to stop attacking people. They’d have to listen to their king, right? I could make sure there was peace in Sendai.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for a nineteen-year-old,” Iwaizumi points out slowly, knowing Tooru has a point and fighting back the fear that suddenly clenches his stomach.

“Mm, you’re probably right,” Tooru says, closing his eyes in thought. “I should just focus on enhancing my skills and becoming a hunter.”

Iwaizumi swallows. “Yeah . . .”

He turns his gaze to the print on the wall once more, noticing the furrow of the knight’s brow. Now that he looks closer at it, he’s not sure the expression on his face is one of triumph. It appears more likely that the man is in pain. Maybe he didn’t win the battle after all. Or perhaps victory wasn’t as sweet as everyone said it would be.

Maybe he lost something along the way.

Iwaizumi doesn’t like the shiver he feels in his chest at that thought.

 

 

He’s walking in a garden, the scent of roses permeating the air. It’s so sweet it’s nearly sickening, and the crimson of the petals seems too bright to be real. The sky is clear above him, and in the distance he can hear the chirping of birds in the trees. As he lifts a hand to touch the stem of a rose, he notices he’s wearing a gauntlet. Looking down, he sees he’s encased in armor, the metal gleaming with a polished shine.

“Careful. Those thorns can prick even through clothing if pressed hard enough.”

Iwaizumi turns to look at his companion. It’s Tooru, dressed in purple and white, a velvet cape flowing from his shoulders. He’s wearing thigh-high boots, also white, and there’s a jeweled crown atop his head between his horns. When he smiles at Iwaizumi, his teeth are sharp, and his eyes glow as red as the roses surrounding them. The left side of his face is covered with scales and runes that swirl and move like leaves in a stream. It’s almost dizzying to watch, so Iwaizumi tears his gaze away, looking instead at the rose he’s nearly grasped. Gently, he pinches the stem and plucks it from the bush, bringing it to his nose.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? You’d think they’ve been grown and cultivated for years. But I only just created this garden yesterday. It needed to be perfect, and I don’t have time for gardening.”

“You could’ve hired one of your subjects to look after it,” Iwaizumi points out, slowly twirling the flower between his fingers.

“One of those demons? They don’t recognize true beauty. They would’ve destroyed it.” Tooru shakes his head slightly. “No, I don’t trust anyone but myself to create something like this.”

“You don’t trust them for a lot of things.”

Tooru gives him a sad smile. “That’s why I have you,” he says. “I know I can always trust you.”

Iwaizumi nods. It’s true. Tooru can trust him. That’s always been the case, right from the start. Suddenly Tooru’s hand reaches out, latching onto his arm with a vice-like grip. Iwaizumi pauses, glancing from the hand to Tooru’s face. He leans in close, eyes flashing like rubies caught in the sun.

“Which is why you’re the one who needs to do it.”

Iwaizumi feels cold suddenly, like his veins have been filled with ice water. His mouth tastes dry, and he has to wet his lips with his tongue before speaking.

“What?” he rasps, and suddenly the sun is gone, and dark clouds roll in across the clear sky, hovering low above the garden. The flower in his hand shrinks and withers, and he notices that all of the roses around them have blackened, dripping thick, black liquid like tar onto the ground.

Tooru’s gaze never falters, and he doesn’t loosen his grip. The rose Iwaizumi holds becomes a sword, and before Iwaizumi can blink, it’s buried almost hilt deep into Tooru’s chest. Blood drips from his mouth down his chin, as he grins.

“You need to do it, before it’s too late.”

Iwaizumi wants to turn away, to close his eyes, to do _something_ to make this horror show disappear. But he can’t. He can only stare, wide-eyed, as Tooru begins to laugh, a terrible, awful sound that shakes the earth beneath his feet.

“Shut up! Stop that!” he shouts, his fingers trembling around the hilt of the sword. He tries to pull back, to remove it from Tooru’s chest, but it won’t budge.

“Tooru! Stop this! I’m not going to do it! I’m not going to kill you, are you an idiot?” He shouts it as loud as he can into the laughing face before him, feeling rage and despair crash over him in an overwhelming wave that buckles his knees.

“The knight must save the king. Even if it’s from himself.”

It’s Tooru’s voice, but the Tooru in front of him is still laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks. He doesn’t seem to be amused, though. He looks like he’s in agony, and the laughter becomes a scream, and Iwaizumi shatters into a million pieces.

“No!”

He sits upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. His heart is pounding wildly, thumping hard against his chest. He reaches up to clutch at his sleep shirt, curling his fist around the material in a tight grasp, as he pants for breath.

Once he realizes that he’s in his room, and that Tooru _isn’t_ bleeding and screaming in front of him, he exhales shakily, bringing his knees up and dropping his forehead onto them. His eyes burn, but he blinks away the tears before they can fall. It was just a nightmare. None of it was real.

Still, he can’t help but reach for his phone.

>> _Hey. Are you okay?_ (02:32)

 **Nerdkawa**  
_ooh-la-la is this Iwa-chan texting me? what a blessed occurrence. i feel so honored~_ (02:32)

>> _Cut that shit out, I’m asking a serious question._ (02:33) _  
_

**Nerdkawa**  
_i’m fine? All systems functioning at normal capacity. (* >_ _▽_ _< *)_ _ゞ_ (02:33) _  
_

>> _Good._ (02:33) _  
_

**Nerdkawa**  
_is everything alright Iwa-chan?_ (02:35) _  
_

>> _Yeah. Just had a shitty dream._ (02:35) _  
_

**Nerdkawa**  
_oh no! (´ ˙○˙ `) do you want to talk about it???_ (02:35)

>> _Not really. And stop with the dumbass emoticons._ (02:36) _  
_

**Nerdkawa**  
_they’re not dumb, they’re adorable!_ ~( ´•︵•` )~ (02:36)

>> _Stop._ (02:36) _  
_

**Nerdkawa**  
_the emoticons want you to love them iwa-chan ˚_ _‧_ _º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄_ _⌓_ _˂̣̣̥᷅ )_ _‧_ _º·˚_ (02:37) _  
_

_> >Goodnight. _(02:37) _  
_

**Nerdkawa**  
_ू_ _(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀_ _ू_ _)_ (02:38) _  
_

As he sets his phone back on his nightstand, Iwaizumi has to admit that he feels better. He lies back down, staring up at the ceiling and finding that he’s breathing easier. For as annoying as Tooru can be, he’s never failed to cheer Iwaizumi up.

There’s a twinge in his chest that he can’t quite explain, like a hole has opened up inside of him. He wants Tooru there beside him. He wants to turn and be able to wrap his arm around his best friend, pull him close to his chest and bury his nose in his hair. He wants this so badly his entire body seems to ache from the lack of warmth, the lack of contact. He’s never before longed for something this much in life.

He wishes he could just explain it away as him being lonely. But he doesn’t think that this can be satisfied by just anyone. It’s Tooru he wants in bed next to him. It’s Tooru whose face he thinks of every morning after he wakes up.

He’s starting to realize that maybe that kiss really wasn’t just out of relief and a result of adrenaline. He really should stop lying to himself and just admit it.

“I’m in love with Oikawa Tooru.”

Grimacing at how ridiculous that sounds, Iwaizumi turns and buries his face into his pillow, cheeks burning. There’s no way he can say that to Tooru’s face if he gets embarrassed simply speaking it into an empty room.

Besides, it’s not like Tooru needs anything else to worry about right now.

 

***

 

The afternoon sun is high in the sky, as Akaashi walks beside Bokuto in the park. Despite the recent attacks on the city, there are children out with their parents, playing together or with their dogs, laughing and running about. Akaashi can’t help but smile when he sees them. Kiyomi would be almost three years old by now. He wonders if his parents take her to parks like this one where they are.

Bokuto’s going on about some crazy stunt he and Kuroo attempted during the attacks that apparently worked really well in keeping imps away from Kenma’s street. Something to do with a flame-thrower and magic, but Akaashi’s barely listening. He jerks to a stop, however, when he feels a warm hand on his elbow, realizing at the last minute that it’s fine because he’s wearing long sleeves despite the heat. Willing his cheeks to cool from his embarrassment, Akaashi turns to look up at Bokuto.

“Akaashi, you’re not listening to me.” Bokuto’s expression falls into a pout.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san. You were saying?”

“No, it’s fine. If you don’t want to listen to my story, I won’t tell it!” Bokuto looks away, over-dramatic as always.

Akaashi sighs. He’s still getting used to this side of Bokuto, the side that gets dejected if he feels as though he’s not getting enough attention or has messed up on something he feels is important. The best thing to do usually is to wait it out until he becomes more reasonable, and then to cheer him with words of praise or lavish attention.

So he nods. “Okay, Bokuto-san. If that’s what you wish.”

They walk in silence for a few more minutes, until Bokuto starts to fidget beside him, obviously wanting to speak but not wanting to go back on his words either. Akaashi fights a smile. It is rather amusing, in a way.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Bokuto-san?” he asks after watching Bokuto suffer a few minutes longer.

“It was just _so_ cool!” Bokuto blurts out. “We weren’t sure it’d work at first, but I knew some spells from my research and it was like BOOM! The whole end of the street lit up like a Christmas tree, and those imps never stood a chance. They hightailed it out of there faster than a mouse running from a cat.” He grins, obviously pleased with himself.

“I see. That is very impressive.”

Bokuto appears to puff up even larger than before at the praise, and Akaashi has to fight another grin, not wanting to encourage him.

They come to a bench by a pond, and while Bokuto rushes over to exclaim over the fish, Akaashi takes a seat to rest his legs. As he sits, he can feel that ache in his chest returning, like it inevitably does. That desire to touch, to kiss Bokuto senseless, to hold him close in the dark of the night when the intrusive thoughts come, swift and merciless.

His fingers twitch, and he curls them into fists on his knees, looking down at the leather of the gloves he’s wearing, that he always has to wear when he goes outside. It’s a painful reminder of what he’s lost, of what he can never have, and he exhales shakily.

Bokuto plops down beside him, and Akaashi quickly arranges a smile, as he looks up at him. Bokuto beams, reaching out to lay his hand atop Akaashi’s gloved one. He can feel the warmth through the material, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi, guess what?” he says, his eyes sparkling.

“Mm?” Akaashi finds himself distracted by the bits of brown caught in the amber of Bokuto’s eyes. Although both Kenma and Kuroo have golden eyes as well, there’s something about Bokuto’s that stand out.

“I’ve been reading up on faerie curses at school, and there’s this one book that says someone blessed by the fae can’t be hurt by curses. Like, faeries can’t lie, right? So they obviously can’t go back on their word and hurt someone they’ve blessed.”

Akaashi blinks, not sure what Bokuto means but getting an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“So, I should be able to touch you,” Bokuto says with such finality, that Akaashi’s heart immediately begins racing in alarm.

“Bokuto-san, faeries didn’t—”

Before he can even finish his debunk of that theory, Bokuto’s hands are on his face, cupping both cheeks. Akaashi registers the warmth of them, the roughness of his palms and fingertips, before he stands abruptly. His entire body is shaking, and he holds out his hand to keep Bokuto from reaching out to him again.

“You can’t touch me!” he cries.

But Bokuto isn’t looking at him. He’s inspecting his hands, slowly turning them in front of his eyes. They’re normal. Perfectly fine. Akaashi stares, eyes widening. There’s no sign of decay, no black marks on Bokuto’s skin. Slowly, Bokuto lifts his gaze to meet Akaashi’s. He grins, curling his hands into fists and jumping to his feet, arms in the air.

“Hey, hey, hey! I told you, didn’t I? I _told_ you faeries were real! They’re real and they blessed me, just like my mom said! And now I can touch you!”

He steps closer, grabbing Akaashi’s face once more. The contact burns like fire racing across Akaashi’s skin, a shiver through his veins. He gasps, and Bokuto closes the distance further, bending to press his lips against Akaashi’s open mouth. They’re soft, warm, and it’s overwhelming. Akaashi feels dizzy, his knees weak. He has to clutch at Bokuto’s arms to remain upright, as he trembles.

_Is this truly happening? Am I dreaming?_

Bokuto’s tongue licks into his mouth, gentle and wet, and Akaashi’s head spins faster. He’s not dreaming, apparently. This feels much too real. The flames beneath his skin burn hotter, but unfortunately his mind still works and the realization of what this means hits him sooner than he wants it to.

His fingers shake, and he clutches Bokuto’s arms tighter, even as he pulls away. Bokuto slowly opens his eyes, and he’s grinning so happily, that Akaashi’s chest squeezes tight.

_Why did it have to be you?_

“I-I need to leave. I’m sorry.” He releases Bokuto’s arms, stepping back quickly.

Bokuto’s grin falters, his brows wrinkling together. “Akaashi?”

“I-I’m sorry.” Akaashi’s eyes sting, and he blinks rapidly to fight back the tears that appear.

Turning, he begins to run, trying to ignore Bokuto’s hurt and confused shout of “AKAASHI!” behind him. Once he’s out of sight of the park, he collapses by the sidewalk in the grass, his heart pounding, as he gasps for breath. He places his fingers on his lips, allowing the tears to fall now that he no longer has an audience.

Over and over his mind plays that passage, that one cure he found for his curse, the one cure nobody in his family managed to create. Because how could anyone do something so horrible?

 

 

 _“These are the simple steps to take_  
_For which a rightful cure to make:_  
_The one to touch and not to burn,_  
_Back to dust they must return._  
_And pour the blood upon the stone,_  
_And say the incantation shown.”_

“I never thought it possible that anyone could touch me and not burn,” Akaashi admits quietly into the phone. “And I never had the courage to try it, just in case I ended up hurting someone. I resigned myself to live like this forever, but now the solution is in front of me and it’s Bokuto-san.”

Kenma’s silent on the other end of the line for a few moments before he sighs. “So your choice is to either be with the person you love, never able to touch anyone else, or you kill him so you’re able to touch others? That’s shitty.”

“It should be an easy choice, yes?” Akaashi says, leaning his head back against the couch. He stares up at his ceiling, running his finger absently over his lips. “Logically, I know that there will be others in my life that I will fall in love with. _Logically_ , it’s a small sacrifice in the scheme of things.”

“I don’t think killing someone is ever a small sacrifice,” Kenma murmurs.

“No, of course not. And I love Bokuto-san. I honestly believe I could spend the rest of my life with him.”

“So you’ve already made your decision then. There’s nobody else you want to touch, right?”

Akaashi bites his lip, looking down at his hand, as he curls his fingers slowly and then spreads them back out. He thinks about Kenma’s hair, the silky look to it, the softness of his skin. He thinks of the times before Bokuto, when his fingers would twitch to hold Kenma’s, to lace through them and squeeze. His chest aches, and he inhales shakily.

“No. No, there isn’t.”

“So don’t worry about the cure,” Kenma states factually. “Just be happy with Bokuto.”

Akaashi digs his nails into his palms. “Kenma-kun.”

“Mm?”

“If there’s another way to break the curse . . . I don’t think there is but . . . if I ever manage to find one . . . would you let me touch you?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, stretching for so long that Akaashi feels anxiety forming a lump in his throat. He realizes that goes directly against what he said earlier, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Yes.”

Kenma’s voice is soft, barely audible, but Akaashi feels a rush of relief that’s so potent he actually moves his hand to his chest, clutching the material of his shirt. Before he can reply, though, Kenma speaks again.

“Do you want me to find Bokuto for you?”

Akaashi sighs. “Yes, thank you. I don’t know what I’d say if I had to find him myself. But I know I need to talk to him. I left him quite suddenly, and I’m sure he’s very confused.”

“Okay. And Keiji?”

Akaashi swallows. “Yes, Kenma-kun?”

“I think that if anyone can find a different cure for this curse it’s you.”

Akaashi’s not sure what he’s done to deserve such faith, but he feels a swell of gratitude.

“Thank you, Kenma-kun.”

_I hope you’re right._

 

***

 

While Kuroo didn’t exactly have plans for the day, he still didn’t expect to wind up on his couch with a dejected Bokuto in his lap. He absently strokes his friend’s stiff hair, as Bokuto laments about how Akaashi ran away from their first kiss.

“It was like a revelation, bro, you know? Like, I was finally able to touch him! It was like the sky opened up and birds were singing; it was the best day of my life! And then he _ran away_. I must be a terrible kisser.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. I tell you you’re good every time we make out.”

Bokuto frowns. “You just say that to make me feel better.”

Kuroo shoves Bokuto off his lap. “You’re so annoying.”

Bokuto hits the floor with a dull thud. He groans, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in any pain (physically at least). Kuroo stands, stepping over his languishing friend to walk into the kitchen to grab a beer. He’s just opening it when a soft knock sounds against his front door. Hoping it’s Akaashi come to take his whining boyfriend away, Kuroo crosses over to open it.

“Thank god you’re here,” he says, blinking when he realizes he’s looking across the hall at the wall. He lowers his gaze.

“Kozume?”

The boy shifts, hunching forward as though he’s trying to hide further into his hoodie. “Is Bokuto here?” he asks, peering around Kuroo’s arm.

“Yeah. Are you here to make him leave? Because that’d be super helpful.”

Kozume sends him a faint frown. He skirts around Kuroo to step into the apartment, and Kuroo stifles a laugh, shutting the door. He walks in on Kozume attempting to drag Bokuto across the floor by his arm, obviously struggling. Kuroo leans in the entryway, watching with a smirk.

“Just leave me, Kozume-kun,” Bokuto says. “Akaashi doesn’t want to see me ever again.”

“That’s not even true,” Kozume huffs, releasing his arm to let it flop back on the floor. “He asked me to find you. He wants to talk to you.”

Bokuto tilts his head, squinting up at Kozume. “Really?”

Kozume nods, hands shoving into the pockets of his hoodie.

In a single bound, Bokuto is on his feet. “Hoot! I’ll talk to you later, Kuroo!” he calls, even as he’s running out the door, barely taking the time to grab his shoes.

Kuroo shakes his head, pushing off the wall when Kozume turns toward him. He holds out his beer with a faint smile, knowing the answer to his question before he even asks it.

“Want a drink?”

Kozume blinks at him, before stepping forward to walk around him. Kuroo bites his lip, realizing that once Kozume leaves he’ll be alone again. The whisper curls around his mind, its voice a slimy, insidious reminder of what he is and what he can never have again. Without thinking, he reaches out to grab Kozume’s arm before he can pass him.

“Wait,” he says, and his voice sounds more desperate than he means it to be. “Please stay.”

Kozume glances down at the hand on his arm, but he doesn’t immediately shake him off, which Kuroo takes as a good sign. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet Kuroo’s.

“Are you asking me? Or Kenta?”

Kuroo swallows hard. “You,” he says truthfully.

He knows he’s never going to see Kenta again.

Kozume pulls his arm away, but instead of continuing to the door, he steps out of his shoes, kicking them aside, before walking back into the living area. He sits down on the couch, tucking his legs underneath him, and pulling his gaming device (which Kuroo now knows is called a PSP) from his pocket. Soon, the soft sounds of battle music and fighting fill the silence, and Kuroo feels a little better, despite not having Kozume’s attention on him.

He goes to sit on the other side of the couch, giving Kozume plenty of space. He sips on his beer, not sure if he wants to watch TV or read or simply watch Kozume play his game. He can’t see Kozume’s expression with the way his head his tilted, hair lying like a curtain against the side of his face. He’s tempted to reach over and brush that hair behind Kozume’s ear, but he knows he’s walking on thin ice as it is.

_[do you honestly think that if you befriend this boy it’ll be like kenta has returned?]_

_It’s not like that. I don’t need him to be Kenta’s replacement._

_[then why are you so desperate for him to like you?]_

Kuroo chews on his lip further, not entirely sure how to answer that question. It’s true that he does want Kozume’s regard for him to be favorable, but not exactly because he looks like Kenta. It’s not like he’s trying to get Kenta back into his life through Kozume. He knows now that it won’t work. Despite the similarities, there are too many differences between them. Every moment spent with Kozume would just remind Kuroo of how he’s _not_ Kenta, and that seems too painful a situation to pursue.

No, he finds himself interested in Kozume for _Kozume_. His motives have changed since he first laid eyes on the boy. For some reason he’s intrigued by him. He wants to know more about him.

“What do your parents do that has them gone so many hours?” he asks, wondering if Kozume will open up at all.

Kozume doesn’t answer, and at first Kuroo wonders if he’s doomed to remain an outsider in Kozume’s life forever. But then he tilts his head ever so slightly, thumbs never pausing on his game.

“They’re researchers. They study magical artifacts from the past to see what practical uses they could have now. They’re always at the museum working or on dig sites.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t that pay a lot though?” Kuroo asks, thinking that _sounds_ like a pretty important job. He looks at Kozume’s faded jeans and the holes in the cuffs of his hoodie.

“It pays enough to get by. It’s not like they’re the only ones doing it.” Kozume’s voice sounds defensive, so Kuroo tries to think of a different question.

“Do you think you’ll want to do that after you graduate?”

Kozume shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving his game. “No, I’ll probably just work in my grandmother’s shop.”

Kuroo frowns faintly. “I don’t think you should waste your potential like that.”

Kozume does pause at that, and he lifts his head to give Kuroo a tiny frown, lips pulled in, brow wrinkling. It’s adorable, but Kuroo knows better than to point that out.

“I mean it,” he says instead, trying to sound encouraging. “From what I saw when we were fighting those wolves you could go on to become a powerful sorcerer.”

“I don’t _want_ to be a powerful sorcerer,” Kozume says, turning back to his game.

“But think of all the people you could help!”

“I’ll help people just fine from the shop.”

“With that attitude you’ll never fulfill your destiny.”

Kozume sighs. “My destiny isn’t to become some great, powerful sorcerer.”

“You don’t know that. Kenta thought—”

“I’m not Kenta!” Kozume lowers his PSP completely, turning toward Kuroo to glare at him so ferociously, Kuroo leans back, surprised.

“I-I know that,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I just . . . think you could do some really great things if you apply yourself.”

Kozume returns to his game, shoulder rising toward his ears. “Sounds like too much work,” he says softly, but there’s something beneath his words, a faint tremor in his voice.

“Are you afraid?” Kuroo asks gently, shifting closer to him carefully.

Kozume doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t continue pressing the buttons on his PSP either. Hesitantly, Kuroo reaches out, slowly drawing Kozume’s hair back behind his ear to reveal his profile. His eyes are closed, and Kuroo watches as his throat constricts quickly. He’s not shying away from Kuroo’s touch, though, so Kuroo allows his fingers to linger, threading lightly through the strands.

“It’s okay to be afraid. But you shouldn’t let your fear stop you from doing what you feel you’re meant to do.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to do,” Kozume murmurs, hands clutching the PSP tightly. “Before everything was simple. Then I started having the dreams. And you appeared.” Opening his eyes, Kozume turns to fix Kuroo with a hard look, the gold of his eyes seeming to glow with intensity. Kuroo’s heart stutters without his consent.

“I don’t know why you’re here, or why I look like Kenta, but I don’t want to have anything to with whatever’s going on.”

Kuroo studies Kozume’s expression, the lines of his face drawn tight. Before he can think of something to say, Kozume turns his gaze back to his game. “It’s too much trouble,” he adds under his breath.

“Do you want to see what happened?” Kuroo asks, before he can stop himself.

_[what are you doing?]_

Kozume stills, his head tilting to the side.

_[don’t do it. you’ll only frighten him further.]_

_Are you worried about what he might see?_

The whisper doesn’t reply, but its response to this question piques Kuroo’s curiosity. He already knows what Kozume will see, and he’s not sure he’s ready to go through the pain of that scene again, but if it helps the kid understand what’s going on, what his purpose might be, then Kuroo wants to help. He feels like he owes it to Kozume to shed some light on his situation, if he can.

Kozume turns off the game, setting it aside and twisting to face him fully, sitting cross-legged in front of him. “Are you going to go into my head again?” he asks, his nose wrinkling at the apparently unpleasant thought.

Kuroo shakes his head, placing his beer on the floor beside the couch. “You’ll be going into mine,” he says, holding his hands out for Kozume’s.

Kozume looks down at his hands a moment, before taking them slowly. Kuroo squeezes them gently, before bringing them up to his temples, resting Kozume’s fingers against them. He closes his eyes, drawing up his power, as he focuses on that moment, the moment that’s haunted him for the past six hundred years.

Kozume gasps softly, as red sparks dance around his fingertips.

_[you’re going to regret this.]_

Kuroo ignores the voice and opens up his mind.

 

_He can hear the sound of fighting from outside the shack, the shouts of men and the screeching of imps, the howling of wolves. Countless demons wage war against the soldiers outside, and it makes his skin crawl. Turning away from the door, he looks to Kenta, who’s finished drawing the pentagram on the floor with his chalk. He stands, wiping his hands on his cloak, before sitting down in the wooden chair set at its center._

_“Restrain me.”_

_Kuroo swallows hard, stepping forward with the length of silver chain in his hands. He begins to bind Kenta to the chair, his hands sweaty, making his grip slick. Kenta’s breathing is even, but Kuroo can see the paleness of his skin. He knows him well enough by now to know he’s afraid._

_“Tighter.”_

_Grimacing, Kuroo tightens the bounds until Kenta winces. He steps back quickly, shaking his head._

_“I don’t like this. It should be me in that chair.”_

_“You don’t have the magic to keep the demon from completely taking over you,” Kenta points out, not unkindly. “You know the correct incantation to release it. We’ve gone over this hundreds of times.”_

_“I know, but I don’t like the thought of it being inside you in the first place.” Kuroo curls his hands into fists to hide their trembling. “What if I fuck up? What if I can’t bring you back?”_

_Kenta smiles faintly. “I have faith in you.”_

_It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t calm Kuroo’s nerves. He takes a step back, leaving the pentagram, as Kenta closes his eyes and begins to chant the summoning. Almost immediately the room seems to grow colder. Kuroo shivers, able to see his breath when he exhales. A gust of wind exits the lines of the pentagram, blowing Kenta’s hair upward and forcing Kuroo to back up another step. He frowns, heart pounding in his throat, as inky black smoke curls up from the floorboards, swirling around Kenta in the chair, worming its way into his mouth until it and the wind are gone. Kenta’s head lowers, and he opens his eyes._

_They’re red, bright red, and the sneer that crosses his face is unlike any expression Kuroo’s ever seen on Kenta’s face._

_“So. You summon me. For what purpose?”_

_“Who’s trying to open the Hell Mouth?” Kuroo asks, his hand instinctively clutching the knife at his side, though he knows he’ll be unable to do anything with it while the demon remains inside Kenta._

_“The heir to the throne of Hell who seeks his birthright.”_

_Kuroo frowns. “Who is trying to open the Hell Mouth?” he asks again. “A_ name _.”_

_The demon laughs, twisting Kenta’s face into something ugly. Kuroo feels sick, and his grip tightens on the knife._

_“Why should I tell you, human? It would be better if I showed you, yes? Why don’t you remove these restraints? I’ll take you to the man you seek.”_

_“I’m not an idiot,” Kuroo snaps. “Tell me what I want to know, or I’ll—”_

_“Or you’ll what? You’ll stab your precious Kenta with that blessed knife to kill me? We both know you don’t have it in you to do such a terrible thing. And who could blame you? He’s quite a special little thing, isn’t he? His body is very comfortable. Mm, very warm. Very nice.” Kenta grimaces and then laughs. “Oh, he didn’t like that. Using his magic to sting me. Very naughty. Does he like to spank you too?”_

_Kuroo’s quickly realizing that this demon isn’t going to help them. He knew this was a bad idea. Demons can never be trusted._

_“I’m giving you one last chance to tell me what I want to know, before I send you back.”_

_“Hm, how about a trade then? I’ll tell you the name, if you tell me yours. A name for a name. That’s fair, isn’t it?”_

_Kuroo hesitates. He knows he’ll be making himself vulnerable to attack if he gives his name to a demon, but on the other hand they_ need _this name. They need to know who’s attempting to open the Hell Mouth so they can_ stop _him. Surely Kenta would find this a fair trade._

_“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he says, mouth dry._

_Kenta smiles slowly. “The man you’re looking for is a half-demon named Daishou. I do not know his given name.”_

_“That’s fine. We can work with that,” Kuroo says, glad the demon’s cooperating._

_“Are you sure you have to get rid of me so soon? I know of a few games we could play,” the demon says, its voice lilting suggestively._

_Kuroo shudders. “No, thanks,” he says, lifting his hand and saying the incantation to send the demon back where it belongs._

_He says it so confidently, positive that he has it correct. After all, he’s been practicing. But when he’s completed the spell, Kenta’s eyes are still red, and he’s wearing a cruel smirk._

_“Did you forget a word?”_

_“No, shut up,” Kuroo growls, quickly repeating the incantation._

_Nothing happens. The demon laughs, shrill, almost hysterical. Kuroo scrambles to think of what he might’ve said wrong. A mispronunciation? Did he switch a couple words into the wrong order? He can feel his palms growing damp, and he looks in dismay at Kenta._

What have I done?

_The demon is wheezing; it’s laughter still shaking Kenta’s form. “What an incompetent human, you are!”_

_“Shut up! Leave him! Now!”_

_Kenta smirks. “Come here and make me.”_

_Kuroo lurches forward before he can stop himself, stepping into the pentagram and grabbing the front of Kenta’s shirt, looking directly into those deep red eyes, still sparkling with mirth. “Take me then. If you won’t go back to Hell, then take my body instead. Leave Kenta’s alone.”_

_Kenta’s eyebrows quirk upward. “You would sacrifice yourself for this boy?”_

_“In a heartbeat,” Kuroo says through gritted teeth._

_“Well, Kuroo Tetsurou, this will certainly be interesting.” Kenta’s mouth opens, and the black smoke from before billows out, rushing toward Kuroo’s face._

_He stumbles back, grabbing at his throat, choking as the smoke burns its way into him. His vision blurs, grows dark, as he gasps for breath. The last thing he hears before blackness consumes him is the shout of Kenta’s voice, panicked, desperate, calling his name._

_“TETSUROU!”_

Kozume snatches his hands away, breathing hard. Slowly, Kuroo opens his eyes, feeling the tears already staining his cheeks. Kozume’s own face is pale, his eyes wide. To Kuroo’s surprise, there are tears slipping down his cheeks as well, dripping off to wet the legs of his jeans. Something twists in Kuroo’s chest, guilt perhaps. He could never stand to see Kenta cry, and somehow this seems worse. He’s directly the cause of Kozume’s tears.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not . . .” Kozume says, but he moves his hands to his face, wiping away the water there. He looks down at his fingers, blinking at them, and a couple more tears leak out, dropping onto his palm.

Kuroo doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t know his memory of that night would affect Kozume that much. He wonders why it did. He doesn’t want to see any more tears; he doesn’t want to be the cause of any more suffering. Before he can think better of it, he leans forward and presses his lips gently against Kozume’s.

He feels rather than hears the sharp intake of breath, as Kozume stiffens. With a grimace, Kuroo leans back.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

“Why did you do that?” Kozume asks. He doesn’t sound angry, and his expression is blank, as he stares at Kuroo. Kuroo can’t read him at all, and his heart pounds faster, working its way into his throat.

_He’s going to hate me now. He’s going to hate me._

“I just . . . I don’t know. I couldn’t just sit here and watch you cry.”

“Did you kiss me out of guilt for what you did to Kenta?”

The words sting sharp against his chest, and Kuroo winces. “I . . . no. Kozume, I don’t . . . I don’t think of you as a replacement, okay? What I did to Kenta was . . . unforgivable, I know. But I also know that I can’t use you to make it up to him.”

Kozume’s eyes watch him shrewdly, his gaze moving between Kuroo’s eyes as though searching for a lie.

“I kissed you because I care about you,” Kuroo admits with a sigh, gesturing helplessly to the side. “You might not believe me, but I do. You’re a good person, and I feel bad that I made you cry.”

Kozume looks away finally, reaching up to untuck his hair and hide his face once more. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. He gets up off the couch then, grabbing his PSP and placing it back into his pocket.

Kuroo watches him, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t make any move to stop him, knowing that he needs to let him go. He’s done enough damage for the day.

Kozume doesn’t immediately turn toward the door, however. He stands with his back to Kuroo, hands in his pockets. “It was a mistake. Anyone could’ve made it. You shouldn’t place too much blame on yourself.”

Kuroo blinks, staring at Kozume’s back and wondering why it feels like he’s not just talking about showing him the memory. The whisper is silent, offering no aide, but Kuroo doesn’t wonder about the consequences of going against its wishes.

Kozume turns toward him once more, just slightly, glancing at Kuroo over his shoulder briefly, before turning his gaze toward the double glass doors that lead to the patio. “And my name is Kenma.”

Kuroo’s heart stutters, and he feels as though he’s been shocked, his back straightening. “What?” he asks, eyes wide, wondering if he just heard what he thought he did.

Kozume doesn’t repeat himself, though, and a moment later he’s gone, silently slipping out the door.

Kuroo slides off the couch to sit against it, head falling back to stare up at the ceiling. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and confusion over everything that just happened. But one singular thing stands out among the chaos in his brain, despite the flashes of memory that still pulsate through it.

_Kenma._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he is always this kind
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	10. it's a mad world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my laptop died, and I had to write this all on my phone. Thankfully my Bluetooth keyboard made it easier, but still I apologize if there are any formatting errors or anything.
> 
> (There is smut in this chapter! To skip it stop at "He moves his hands" and resume at "Did that really just happen?")
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

when we love, we always strive to become better than we are.  
when we strive to become better than we are,  
everything around us becomes better too.

\-- paulo coelho, _the alchemist_

* * *

 

 

Bokuto’s heart races in his chest, as he stands outside of Akaashi’s door. He just ran the ten blocks to Akaashi’s house without stopping, so he’s nearly doubled at the waist, as he pants for breath. Despite knowing that Kozume said Akaashi wanted to talk to him, he can’t help but feel anxious. Nerves twist in his stomach, making him feel like he wants to throw up. He swallows back the bile rising in his mouth, shaking his head as he straightens.

_Kuroo says I’m a good kisser. That can’t be the reason why he ran away. But what if it’s something else? What if he just decided he doesn’t like me anymore? Can that happen?_

Bokuto shifts on his feet, staring at the door in front of him, though he doesn’t focus on it. It’s difficult to, when his brain is racing with different possibilities and scenarios of what Akaashi might want to talk about. He’s still standing there when the door opens, and he finds himself looking at Akaashi’s face instead of wood.

“Bokuto-san, are you going to simply stand there all afternoon?”

Bokuto blinks, heat rushing to his face. “Akaashi!” he exclaims, though he has nothing to follow that with, so he simply stands there, staring at the younger man, eyes wide.

Akaashi smiles faintly, just a quirk, but it’s enough to send Bokuto’s heart fluttering against his ribcage. He smiles back tentatively, and Akaashi steps back, opening the door wider.

“Come in, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto steps into the house, wondering why it feels like this is the first time he’s ever done it. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out and touch Akaashi, to hold his face in his hands, but he doesn’t want to scare Akaashi off again, so he curls his fingers into fists and keeps them at his sides.

“Kuroo says you didn’t run away because I’m a terrible kisser,” he says, as he takes off his shoes. He watches Akaashi’s face for confirmation, as the other shuts the door.

Akaashi turns back with pursed lips, but he seems amused. “No, I didn’t run away because you’re a terrible kisser. You’re actually a very good kisser, though I don’t have any experience to compare it to.”

Bokuto already feels better by this admission, so he straightens his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Then why did you run away?” he demands.

Akaashi sighs, crossing over to the living room. Bokuto follows close at his heels, frowning faintly.

“Akaashi?”

“Bokuto-san, please have a seat.”

“I don’t _want_ to have a seat, I _want_ to know why you ran away.” Bokuto lowers his arms, tilting his head as he studies Akaashi. But Akaashi turns his face away, looking toward the couch. Bokuto’s not the best at reading people, but he’s pretty sure Akaashi isn’t as excited as he is to learn that they can touch. He should be more excited. He should be happy. This is what they wanted, isn’t it?

Slowly, Bokuto reaches out, brushing his knuckles against Akaashi’s cheekbone, moving his fingers into the hair that curls above his ear. The skin is warm, smooth, and Bokuto’s fingers tingle at the sensation, but they don’t burn, they don’t turn black and decay or fall off or anything.

Akaashi stiffens, closing his eyes. His lips part, and Bokuto remembers the feel of those lips, soft and pliant against his, and he wants nothing more than to kiss him again.

So he does.

Bending down, he takes Akaashi’s chin with his fingers, pulling his face up in order to capture his lips with his own. Immediately they part for him, wanting, longing, and Bokuto doesn’t hesitate to push harder, to slip his tongue inside and shiver at the contact. Akaashi’s hands come up to cup his face, his fingers trembling against Bokuto’s cheeks. They’re cold, and Bokuto moves his hand to take one of Akaashi’s, squeezing his fingers around it to hopefully warm it.

When they pull away, panting softly, Bokuto doesn’t have time to ask Akaashi if that one was better, before Akaashi is shoving his hands against Bokuto’s chest, knocking him backwards. He stumbles, as his legs hit the couch, sitting down abruptly. Before he can protest against such an assault, Akaashi is on top of him, legs straddling his lap, fingers gripping his hair, as he presses his lips urgently against Bokuto’s.

His heart stutters out of rhythm.

Oh. He _likes_ this Akaashi.

He sets his hands on Akaashi’s hips, gripping them tightly, as Akaashi pushes himself up against him. He sighs hot breaths into Bokuto’s mouth, teeth catching and tugging on his lower lip. Bokuto groans, unable to help it. He wants more of this, more of Akaashi, after so long without a single touch. He wants to touch all of him. Akaashi’s hands move down his shirt, to the hem, before slipping underneath it. His fingers trail sparks of heat against his sides and abdomen, and Bokuto’s hips twitch. Akaashi’s touch is firm, unyielding, as he pushes him further against the back of the couch. It would be smothering if Bokuto wasn’t having such a good time.

He moves his hands from Akaashi’s hips to the small of his back, slipping his fingers up to press against Akaashi’s skin under his shirt. Akaashi responds with a gasp, his back arching slightly, and Bokuto feels the boiling blood in his veins surge down, pooling in his abdomen and making his pants tight. He groans, moving his lips from Akaashi’s in order to bite and suck patterns down his neck. Akaashi’s hands grip his sides, something that sounds like a whimper escaping. Some part of Bokuto’s mind reminds him that he had an important question, but he honestly can’t remember it now.

Akaashi rolls his hips, and Bokuto grimaces faintly at the pleasure that spikes through him, at the drag of sensation across the bulge in his jeans. He moves his hands down, curling them into Akaashi’s ass on top of his pants to encourage more movement, rocking his own hips up to get more friction. Akaashi’s breath hitches, and Bokuto feels much too warm. He leans back to pull his shirt off, quickly doing the same with Akaashi’s. The next moment has Akaashi unfastening their pants, slipping his hand inside of Bokuto’s slick boxers to pull him out. Bokuto shudders, aching, and his hips twitch upward again, seeking more friction. He brings one hand around to move into Akaashi’s pants, mirroring him as he wraps his hand loosely around the erection waiting there.

With a soft moan, Akaashi lowers his head to rest his forehead against Bokuto’s shoulder, panting hotly against his skin, as he begins to tug and pull on Bokuto’s member. Bokuto’s fingers tremble, but he manages to get a firm grip around Akaashi as well, jerking his hand like he does on himself those late nights when he can’t get Akaashi’s face out of his mind. His other hand slides up Akaashi’s back, running along the knobs of his spine, feeling the warmth of him, the reality of him. As much as he’d hoped that his theory was correct, he hadn’t allowed himself to fully imagine what it would be like to touch Akaashi, to hold him like this, to feel his lips moving against his skin, as he murmurs Bokuto’s name over and over again.

Bokuto doesn’t last long. He can’t, not with everything so bright and sharp in his senses. He moans, Akaashi’s name on his tongue, as his hips jolt, thighs twitching, and he comes into Akaashi’s hand. Despite this, he tries to keep up his rhythm on Akaashi, rubbing his thumb across the slit of the head, even as his entire body shakes with pleasure, riding out his orgasm. As the fireworks in his veins fade to sparks, Akaashi gasps, shoulders hunching inward, as he trembles and comes. Bokuto catches everything as best he can, biting his lip as he stares at the wet spots on Akaashi’s neck that his lips left behind.

 _Did_ _that_ _really_ _just_ _happen?_

He feels somewhat overwhelmed, and he doesn’t move right away. Akaashi doesn’t either, and together they remain where they are, catching their breath, skin quivering with aftershocks. Slowly, Bokuto pulls his hand away, grabbing his shirt to clean it, before handing it to Akaashi to do the same. He sits back to take the shirt, eyes hooded, revealing nothing as he stares at his hand instead of Bokuto’s face.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto breathes, watching his face. Akaashi doesn’t lift his gaze. He seems preoccupied in cleaning every inch of his hand, running the edge of the shirt between each finger.

“Hey, Akaashi.” Moving his hand from his back, Bokuto moves to run his thumb along Akaashi’s cheekbone. This time, Akaashi does look up, and Bokuto’s surprised to see that his eyes are wet. He blinks. “Are you crying?”

Akaashi laughs softly, leaning forward to kiss the edge of Bokuto’s mouth. “Don’t worry, Bokuto-san. I’m happy.”

Bokuto feels a warmth spread through his chest that’s almost better than the fire he just experienced. “Really?”

Akaashi nods. “Really.”

“Then . . . can you be my boyfriend? Can you call me Koutarou?” Bokuto moves his fingers through Akaashi’s hair, feeling the silky strands between his fingertips, goosebumps running up his arm.

Akaashi smiles. “Only if you call me Keiji.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen. “Keiji . . .” He says it slowly, with all the reverence that he holds for its owner. Akaashi’s face flushes further, and he ducks his head. Bokuto grins, happiness making him feel giddy. “Keiji. Keiji. Keiji.”

Akaashi buries his face in his hands, and Bokuto can’t help but laugh. “I love your name,” he says, wrapping both arms around Akaashi and pulling him into a close hug. “I love you,” he amends, hiding his grin in the crook of Akaashi’s neck.

It takes a moment, but then Akaashi’s arms come up around to hold him back. He sighs softly and rests his head against Bokuto’s gently.

“I love you too, Koutarou.”

 

***

 

“Kenma? Kenma-kun!”

Kenma pauses, his thumb resting lightly against his bottom lip where it had been absently stroking for the past ten minutes. He blinks, looking over at his friends, at Lev on the floor and Mori at his desk. Lev’s homework is spread out in front of him, and Mori has his pencil in the air. They’re both watching him, and Kenma scrambles to think of what he might’ve missed while lost in his daze.

“Sorry, what?”

“What are you thinking about?” Lev asks curiously, apparently forgetting why he wanted Kenma’s attention in the first place.

Kenma drops his hand quickly to his lap, shifting his gaze between his friends. He’s not sure he wants to tell them. He kind of likes having his last encounter with Kuroo a secret moment inside his mind. He honestly never expected Kuroo to open up so vulnerably to him, and that kiss, that soft brush of lips against his own, has haunted his every waking hour since it happened. But Mori and Lev are watching him expectantly, and he doesn’t like hiding things from them. So he sighs and shrugs one shoulder.

“Kuroo kissed me the other day.”

“What?!” Lev nearly falls over in surprise.

Mori frowns. “Did you want him to?” he asks, and Kenma bites his lip.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t a very long kiss. Just a peck, really. It was over pretty quickly.” Kenma doesn’t mention how his lips tingled for a good ten minutes after the contact. He’s not sure what he thinks of Kuroo now, knowing what he does about what happened to him. Despite his initial first impression of the man, Kenma’s starting to realize that the layers to him are more complicated, that he’s not necessarily someone to fear or avoid.

If he’s honest with himself, he wanted to comfort Kuroo in that moment. And instead he’d received an tentative sort of comfort himself. It seems backwards to him that Kuroo would want to make _him_ feel better, when Kuroo was the one in the most pain.

“I’ll kick his ass,” Mori grumbles.

“Why?” Lev asks, glancing up at him.

“He can’t just . . . assault Kenma like that!” Mori waves vaguely, looking irritated.

“He didn’t assault me.” Kenma rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Mori. I . . . I kind of liked it.”

That causes both of them to pause, turning their attention back to him. Kenma hunches his shoulders, turning his gaze down to look at the textbook in his lap.

“Kenma, do you like Kuroo-san?” Lev asks with a faint grin that borders on teasing.

Kenma frowns over at him, wrinkling his nose slightly. “No,” he says, but his stomach twists like it does whenever he lies.

Mori knows him too well. “Is that a lie?”

Kenma doesn’t answer. He focuses his attention on his textbook, picking up his pencil to make a note on his worksheet, but no words come to him. So he simply rests the tip of it on the paper, scowling in annoyance. He doesn’t know how to like people. It’s never been an issue before. He doesn’t know what this squirming in his stomach means, or the way his face felt hot after he left Kuroo’s apartment. The only other time he experienced something close to this is back when he had a crush on Keiji. It was his first crush, so naturally things felt weird and exciting. But he’s calmed down since then. When he realized he and Keiji couldn’t be together, he didn’t think he’d like anyone else. Nobody else was like Keiji, after all.

So why are all these same inconvenient sensations rushing back to him with Kuroo of all people? He’s nothing like Keiji. He has none of the qualities Kenma finds attractive. Yet that attraction is there, faint, barely blooming but present. Kuroo isn’t the person Kenma thought he was. That much is clear. Perhaps he is someone Kenma can see himself liking.

But that doesn’t make this any less nerve wracking.

“Kenma-kun is so cute,” Lev grins.

Kenma sends him a frown, but Mori isn’t saying anything, which makes him fidget, his chest tightening. He can’t meet his best friend’s gaze, so he looks back down, the words in front of him meaning nothing, as his brain feels like static.

“Lev, why don’t you get us some Popsicles from downstairs?” Mori says, and Lev jumps to his feet.

“Okay, Yaku-san!”

Once he’s gone, Mori leaves the desk to sit beside Kenma. Kenma shifts to the side, able to feel the concern wafting off him, tendrils of blue amidst the gold of his aura.

“I’m worried,” Mori says quietly.

“I know.”

“You don’t know this man, and he has a darkness clinging to him that even I can sense.”

“I know.” Kenma scribbles absently on his worksheet, wishing he had his PSP instead so he could distract himself with a game.

“I’m not going to tell you you can’t like him, but I do want you to be careful, okay?”

“I don’t even know if anything will come of it. He’s with Bokuto.” Kenma says this, but in his heart he knows that Kuroo has an interest in him. He wants to excuse it as being a result of the fact he’s Kenta’s reincarnation, but it still remains that Kuroo said he kissed him to comfort him. Him. Kenma. Not Kenta.

“Just please promise me you’ll be careful. That you won’t do anything rash.”

Kenma gives Mori a withering look. “When have I ever been rash?”

Mori grins faintly. “You have a point, but you know I’m pretty much the mom friend in this small group, so I feel like it’s my job to tell you anyway.”

Kenma nods. “You’re a good friend,” he assures him, glancing at Mori in his peripheral.

Mori smiles, looking pleased. “To be honest, I’m surprised Lev is taking this so well.”

Kenma looks over at this. “What do you mean?”

Mori blinks, lips parted, but before he can reply, Lev comes skipping back into the room, a Popsicle in each hand and one his mouth. “I got you your favorite, Kenma-kun~”

Kenma leans back, as Lev thrusts the Popsicle into his face. “Oh. Thank you.” He takes it slowly, and Mori retreats back to his spot at the desk, silent as a shadow.

“Oh, Yaku-san! I got you one too!” He holds out the treat from his spot near the bed, making Mori have to stand up again to retrieve it.

“Thank you, Lev,” he says politely, before quickly moving back to his seat.

Kenma rolls his eyes, unwrapping his Popsicle to start licking at it. Without his consent, his mind questions what type of Popsicle flavor is Kuroo’s favorite. Mentally berating himself, he does his best to focus once more on his schoolwork, ignoring the sound of Mori and Lev bickering over what subject to cover next.

That night, however, he can’t get Kuroo and Kenta out of his mind. He keeps seeing Kenta’s face, so calm and trusting in the face of Kuroo’s doubt. And that last desperate cry of Kuroo’s given name still gives Kenma chills whenever he thinks of it. He tosses and turns in bed, grimacing at the echo in his mind. Eventually, he gives up trying to sleep and simply stares at the ceiling, questions swirling around his brain.

How did Kenta and Kuroo even meet? How did Kenta come to trust Kuroo so implicitly? How did Kuroo come to love Kenta so hopelessly that he would sacrifice his life the way he did? Did Kenta know how much Kuroo loved him? Was he aware of how much he suffered? What would he do if he knew how much Kuroo is suffering even now?

Closing his eyes, Kenma tries to pull up a memory. He’s not sure how, it’s only ever happened while he slept, but he wants to know. He wants to know what his purpose is, why he was born as Kenta’s reincarnation. There has to be a reason why he’s experiencing these dreams, these memories. Maybe Kenta is trying to tell him something. It seems far-fetched, but considering he lives next to a Hell Mouth and can sense people’s auras it probably isn’t as crazy as it sounds.

He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, relaxing as best he can into his mattress. He calls up his magic, pulling it around him like a golden blanket. He can feel it strengthening his aura, seeping into the cracks of it, thickening it. It makes his fingers and toes tingle, and he wiggles them experimentally. He concentrates on Kenta then, the sound of his voice, the sharp look in his eyes. Despite the discomfort, he allows that weight to settle on his chest, that ache to permeate his core.

 _Show_ _me_ _how_ _you_ _met_.

The world seems to tilt, lurch backwards, and Kenma feels like he’s falling through inky blackness. He clenches his fists into his sheets, anchoring himself, as his heart races. His eyes open instinctively, but he doesn’t see the dark of his bedroom, the ceiling above. Instead he sees a tavern, loud with laughter and song, lights bright in the late evening.

He approaches it without hesitation or any sense of self-consciousness. Pushing open the door, he steps into the front room, scanning the immediate area for someone specific. The tavern owner approaches him, all smiles and open gestures.

“Can I help you with something, my good sir?”

Kenma speaks to him without meeting his gaze, eyes still roving over the reveling patrons. “I’m looking for a man named Kuroo.”

“The Black Cat? Aye, he’s here. Comes in nearly every night to have a drink. He’s not bad as far as ruffians go. Always leaves a nice tip.”

The owner grins, but Kenma just nods absently. “Where might I find him?”

Turning to the side, the owner gestures toward the back of the tavern. “He prefers the tables in the back. I sometimes find him passed out there in the morning.”

Kenma sighs. “Thank you.”

With a brief nod, he makes his way across the tavern, dodging waving tankards and the occasional tavern maid. They give him second glances, but he ignores them, his focus on the back table where a young man sits, hunched over his drink like he holds the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This is not the intimidating man shrouded in darkness that Kenma first saw outside of Keiji’s home. He looks defeated, worn, drunk.

Kenma purses his lips, moving to sit in the seat across from him. He doesn’t speak, simply observes Kuroo, waiting for him to notice him. He does after a moment, and he squints at him over the top of his mostly empty tankard.

“Do I know you?” he asks, words slurring, breath stinking of alcohol.

“No,” Kenma says plainly. “My name is Kenta. I have a job for you.”

“A job.” Kuroo repeats this blankly, glancing over him more closely. Kenma can see the sharpness behind that glazed look, the intelligence behind the drunken stupor. He knows he’s found the right man, though first impressions so far seem lacking.

“Yes. You are the infamous Black Cat, are you not?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re just a kid. I’m not sure you can afford me.” Kuroo smirks, though it seems half-hearted.

Kenma sighs, pulling a heavy coin purse out of the pouch at his waist. He sets it on the table, pushing it across to Kuroo. “Do not presume to know what I can or cannot afford. I may be young, but I’m not an idiot. I’m prepared to pay what I must.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, picking up the purse and weighing it in his hand. He whistles softly. “Your father give you this?”

Kenma can feel irritation beginning to spark, pulsing like the beginnings of a headache at his right temple. “I’m eighteen, not twelve. Do not condescend to me. I know for a fact you’re only nineteen yourself.”

Kuroo’s looking at him differently now, a keen interest in his eyes. “What’s this job you’re asking me to do?”

Kenma folds his hands together beneath the table. “There’s an artifact I need, but it’s in the possession of a man not willing to give it up. I need you to steal it for me.”

“An artifact.”

“Yes.”

“What do you need an artifact for?”

Kenma clenches his fingers. “That is my business.”

“It’s my business too if I’m risking my life to get it for you.”

Kenma has to concede he has a point, and he sighs with resignation. “It’s for a ritual I’m performing for the Emperor. A Hell Mouth has appeared near the palace. I’ve been hired to place wards around the palace to keep any demons from entering. It’s a complicated spell, and I need this artifact’s power.”

“So you’re a magician, huh?”

Kenma purses his lips. “A witch, yes.”

“Where’s your broomstick?”

He’s barely concealing a laugh, and Kenma’s headache presses firmer against his skull.

“Do we have a deal or not? I can give you more details later, but I need to know if you’re willing to take on this mission.”

Kuroo weighs the money in his palm once more, before sliding it into his pocket. “For this amount of gold, we have a deal.”

Kenma relaxes his grip on his hands and nods, satisfied. The tavern around him shimmers, ripples like water reflected in a mirror, and then fades. Kenma blinks and once more sees the blank ceiling above his bed.

Slowly, he releases the sheets in his fists, his fingers aching. His skin is slick with sweat, and as the magic ebbs he gasps faintly for breath, feeling like he’s just run around the block a few times. Despite the weariness, he sits up, looking over at his window. Standing, he crosses over to it, looking down into the front lawn where he can see the black cat standing vigil under the light of the street lamp, just like every night. He wonders when Kuroo finds time to sleep.

Sliding his feet into his slippers, he makes his way out of his room, checking his parents’ bedroom first. The bed is empty, still made. He wonders if they’ve even been back at all since the previous night. He feels like he hasn’t seen them all week, even though he remembers being greeted briefly the day before yesterday when they went to work. His mother kissed his forehead, told him to be good, and then she and his father were gone, off to work their busy schedule and leaving him alone, like always.

Padding downstairs, he opens the front door. The cat turns to look at him, eyes glowing yellow. Without a word, he turns away, leaving the door open and heading back upstairs to grab one of his father’s robes from the master bedroom closet. By the time he makes it back downstairs, the cat is sitting on the couch, watching him. Kenma doesn’t explain, simply lays the robe across the arm of the couch and goes back to close the door, locking it.

When he turns around, Kuroo is standing by the couch, tying off the robe. He looks up when he feels Kenma’s gaze, and he tilts his head curiously.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Kenma doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he makes his way to the kitchen to start some tea. Kuroo follows him, bare feet silent against the floor.

“If I ask you some questions, do you promise to answer truthfully?” Kenma glances over his shoulder at Kuroo, as he gets out the kettle and fills it with water.

Kuroo blinks. “Yes, I promise. You can put a truth spell on me if you like.”

Kenma ponders this, but decides that if he’s willing to have a truth spell placed on himself he must be willing to tell the truth anyway. And Kenma feels tired from expending so much magic earlier. He’d rather not make the effort.

“How old were you when you died?”

Kuroo folds his arms on the back of a chair, leaning on them as he watches Kenma set the kettle on the stove. “Twenty-three.”

 _Four_ _years_. _They_ _knew_ _each_ _other_ _for_ _only_ _four_ _years_. It seems like a long time and yet not long enough.

“What happened to your parents?”

When Kuroo doesn’t answer right away, Kenma turns to find him staring down at the seat of the chair, worrying on his lip.

“They died.”

“Did you kill them?”

Kuroo’s head comes up quickly, eyes widening. “What? No!”

Kenma regards him impassively, pleased that he seems horrified by the prospect. He doesn’t know how many people Kuroo killed while possessed by the demon, but he’s glad to know that he doesn’t have that weighing on his conscience along with everything else.

Kuroo runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “They were killed by raiders when I was six. My dad hid me under the bed, told me not to come out no matter what I heard. I was scared shitless so of course I didn’t move.” He shrugs absently.

“Is that why you became the Black Cat? You were a mercenary, right?” Kenma watches as Kuroo’s back stiffens, his entire body growing still.

“I . . . I became a mercenary to get revenge for their deaths, yes, but I mostly committed theft. I wasn't . . . I’m not a murderer.”

Kenma pulls a couple teacups from the cupboard, rising on his toes to reach. He sets them on the counter. “What did you do when you found them, then?”

“I . . . didn’t. Kenta found me before I could.” Kuroo is watching him closely now, eyes fixed on his face. Kenma avoids eye contact by busying himself with selecting what tea leaves he wants.

“You saw another vision, didn’t you?” Kuroo asks plainly.

“Did Kenta convince you to stop being a mercenary?”

Kuroo sighs, moving around the chair to sit in it. He places one elbow on the table, resting his head in his hand, his eyes never leaving Kenma. “Not exactly. I just . . . after the first job he gave me, he came back almost immediately afterwards with another and then another. I basically became his servant, fetching things for him left and right so he could ‘properly defend Japan’.” Kuroo uses air quotes with his fingers, chuckling softly. “He kept me too busy to do anything else, and after a while I realized that I liked working for him. We grew closer . . . and one night things escalated and we—”

“I don’t want to hear about that,” Kenma says quickly, remembering all too well the feeling of Kuroo making love to Kenta. He pours the hot water into the teapot, his face feeling warm.

Kuroo laughs. “You asked,” he points out. “I mean, after that I realized that I didn’t want to be anywhere else but by his side. He kept me on my toes, made my life interesting. I’d pretty much given up on myself being anything other than a guy who does other peoples’ dirty work, but it felt like he gave me a new purpose. I was helping protect people. It made me feel kind of like a hero.” He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was in a dark place when he met me, but he brought light back into my life. I was _happy_ . . .”

Kenma bites his lip, as Kuroo trails off. The tea ready, he places a cup in front of Kuroo and then sits across from him with his own. “Are you happy now?” he asks softly, not sure of what he wants to hear in answer.

Kuroo looks down at his teacup, moving to wrap his hand around it slowly. “I don’t know. I miss Kenta. It feels like I have this gaping hole in my chest. I’m not sure I know how to fix it.”

Kenma says nothing, thinking that it makes sense. He doesn’t know how to make Kuroo feel better, though, or how to comfort him, so he remains silent, sipping at his tea and looking into the dark liquid instead of at the man across from him.

“Meeting Bo has helped,” Kuroo continues after a moment. “I love his company. He really knows how to get you excited about things, and that’s a high I enjoy.” He pauses, and Kenma can feel the weight of his gaze on him. He shrinks inward, pulling his knees up to his chest, his toes hanging off the edge of the chair.

“Meeting you has helped too,” Kuroo adds quietly.

Kenma feels a _whoosh_ in his stomach, as his heart begins to pound faster. He shakes his head, grabbing his toes with his free hand.

“It’s true,” Kuroo says, apparently noticing Kenma’s skepticism. “Yeah, it was a disappointment to realize that you weren’t Kenta, but I’ve gotten to know you better and I’ve . . . enjoyed that too.” He bites the corner of his lip, seeming almost shy as he continues, “I hope to continue enjoying it, if you’ll let me.”

Kenma isn’t sure what to say. He’s still not entirely convinced that Kuroo isn’t just seeing Kenta when he looks at him. He can’t blame him if he is, but it’s not exactly a nice thought either. He’s not sure why else Kuroo would be interested in him. It’s not like he’s special or particularly good or anything. He’s uninteresting, weak, awkward. Nothing like Kenta. There’s nothing about him that should be attractive to Kuroo.

“Why?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Kuroo leans back. “Why?”

“Why do you enjoy being around me? I’ve been nothing but cold to you.”

Kuroo blinks then laughs. “I enjoy a challenge,” he admits with a shrug. “And I’ve seen how you act around your friends, around Akaashi and Bokuto. I can tell you care about them. You have a good heart. I guess that makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful for what?” Kenma asks, a shiver running down his spine.

“That your regard for me will change. That you’ll see me as a friend too. I could use more friends.” Kuroo gives Kenma a tentative smile. “You gave me your name. I guess I hoped that meant you saw me as a friend.”

Kenma doesn’t reply. He finishes his tea, setting the cup down gently and staring at the dark rim of liquid that lingers at the bottom of his cup.

“Do you? See me as a friend, I mean.” Kuroo seems anxious, and Kenma again wonders why he cares so much. Is it really because he wants to be Kenma’s friend? Or does he just not want to lose whatever small piece of Kenta remains inside him?

But Kenma can’t pretend like he’s still annoyed by Kuroo. He’s allowed him into his home twice now. He gave him tea. He actively sought out his past to discover more about him.

And he did give him his name.

“I guess.”

The smile that lights Kuroo’s face takes him aback. He blinks at it, even as Kuroo tries to hide it behind a cough.

“I’m glad. Does this mean I can come inside more often?” His eyes are bright, expectant.

Kenma pretends like his heart isn’t beating faster at the prospect of spending more time with him. He shrugs, ducking his head to hide his face and the tiny smile that’s threatening to break his composure.

“I guess.”

He hopes he hasn’t made a mistake.

 

***

 

 **Makki** - **chan**  
_so_ _oikawa_ _i’ve_ _got_ _a_ _pop_ _quiz_ _for_ _you_ (00:03)  
_what_ _do_ _you_ _do_ _when_ _you_ _find_ _out_ _one_ _of_ _your_ _best_ _friends_ _is_ _a_ _fucking_ _demon?_  (00:03)  
_do_ _you_ _a_ ) _ignore_ _it_ _b_ ) _report_ _him_ _to_ _the_ _DHS_ c) _kill_ _him_ _because_ _he’s_ _a_ _fucking_ _demon_  
_or_ _d_ ) _send_ _him_ _a_ _vaguely_ _threatening_ _text_ _cuz_ _he’s_ _your_ _friend_ _and_ _he_ _fucking_ _lied_ _to_ _you_? (00:03)  
_guess_ _which_ _one_ _i_ _fucking_ _picked_? (00:03)  
_mattsun_ _wanted_ _me_ _to_ _ignore_ _it_ (00:04)  
_ur_ _a_ _piece_ _of_ _shit_ _oikawa_ (00:05)

  
“Iwa-chan!”

“What the fuck? It’s past midnight, Shittykawa.”

“They know!”

“Who knows?

“Makki and Mattsun! They know about me. Makki sent me this text. He’s really mad, Iwa-chan, I don’t know what to do.”

“. . . I’m working at the store tomorrow. Come by at the end of my shift. I know you have my schedule on your phone. We’ll talk it out, okay? Stop freaking out and go to sleep. If they were going to do something you probably wouldn’t still be here.”

“I . . . you’re right. You’re right.”

“Goodnight, Tooru.”

“Goodnight . . .”

  
Oikawa doesn’t sleep well that night. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Makki standing over him, a smoking pistol in his hand. As Oikawa dies on the ground beneath him, Makki looks unaffected, no sign of remorse in the hard lines of his face.

“I can’t believe I was friends with a monster.”

Oikawa doesn’t know what to do. Does he apologize? Will that fix things? He has no idea. How does one make up for years of deceit? But surely they’ll understand why he did it. Why he couldn’t tell them a secret of this magnitude. It isn’t because he doesn’t trust them, he does. After five years together of course he does. But how does someone bring that up in conversation? When they first met he didn’t know if he could trust them or not, and as time went on it didn’t seem like a big deal. He thought he could go on like this forever, with them never knowing, never having that confrontation, never putting them in a position where they had to choose between their future careers as hunters and their best friend.

But now the truth is out. Oikawa knows how it happened. He told himself Makki hadn’t seen anything when he saved the two of them from the imps, but of course he had. Oikawa hadn’t exactly tried to hide his presence.

“I’m so stupid,” he tells his phone quietly, knowing Iwa-chan would smack him if he heard such talk, but he can’t help it now. Iwa-chan isn’t here, and the darkness looms above him, reaching toward him, suffocating him.

He turns his face into his pillow and screams.

After trying so hard to never lose them, is he about to now?

  
He spends his time before the end of Iwa-chan’s shift loafing about town. He gets a manicure at a local salon, window shops the family owned stores in town. He buys a Godzilla phone charm on a whim, even though Iwa-chan always says phone charms are tacky. He eats milk bread for lunch, an attempt to cheer himself up, and flirts with the cashier until her manager kicks him out.

Finally, with an hour left in Iwa-chan’s shift, he makes his way to the corner store where he works.

“Yahoo~” he calls, as the door chime announces his arrival.

“Oi, Shittykawa, I still have an hour left.”

Iwa-chan frowns at him from behind the front counter, his arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his work shirt are rolled to the elbow, displaying his strong forearms. Oikawa pulls his gaze away from them to give his best friend a cheery smile.

“I bought you something!” He digs the Godzilla charm out of his pocket, displaying it with a flourish, letting it hang off the tip of his finger with a grin.

“Seriously? Like hell I’m going to use that,” Iwa-chan says, but he takes the charm, inspecting it closely before quickly shoving it into his pocket.

Oikawa beams at him. “I knew you’d like it.”

“I don’t. It’s stupid.”

“But you’re keeping it anyway~”

“Are you going to get something or are you just here to make my last hour even more unbearable than it already was going to be?”

Oikawa pouts, twirling the sunglasses stand by the counter with his finger. “Do you notice anything different about me today?” he asks, picking a pair of glasses off the stand to slip on. He preens in the mirror for a few seconds before turning toward Iwa-chan expectantly, lowering the sunglasses slowly with one hand to peer over the top of them, placing his other hand on top of the counter.

Iwa-chan blinks blankly at him. “Uh. Did you get a haircut?”

“Nope!”

“New shirt?”

“ _No_!”

Iwa-chan rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t know then.”

“My hands, Iwa-chan! Look at how nice they look!” Oikawa sticks them out in front of him. “Feel them! They’re so soft!”

Iwa-chan raises his eyebrows, but he moves to take one of Oikawa’s hands, running his thumb along the knuckles. Oikawa suppresses a shiver, and Iwa-chan quickly releases it, huffing softly.

“You got a manicure?”

“I was bored! Plus it never hurts to do maintenance on your appearance. Iwa-chan should try it sometimes. Maybe start with those eyebrows.”

Iwa-chan glares. “Don’t make me climb over this counter.”

Oikawa titters, setting the sunglasses back. His chest feels light, airy, and he almost forgets about the reason why he came here in the first place. That’s the best part about Iwa-chan, he thinks. He’s always able to help him forget about the bad things. He’s considering saying something cheesy about how Iwa-chan can always cheer him up (despite the threat), but before he can the door chimes again and three customers enter. Iwa-chan turns to greet them, and Oikawa busies himself with trying on some more sunglasses.

“If you need help reaching the top shelf just let me know, Yaku-san!”

Oikawa watches in the mirror, as the tallest of the three grins down at the shortest.

“I don’t need your help,” the short one grumbles.

“But you’re so—ack!” The tall one hops on one foot, as Yaku-san kicks him hard in the shin.

“You want to finish that sentence?” he asks in a low, ominous voice that reminds Oikawa of Iwa-chan.

The third party of the company is hunched over a PSP, the hood of his jacket up to obscure his face. He follows the other two without a sound, and sometimes one of them will grab his jacket to help him avoid running into things. Oikawa turns the mirror to try and follow the three as they disappear down one of the aisles, but Iwa-chan reaches over to slap his hand away.

“Ow!’

“Stop being nosy,” he scolds.

Oikawa huffs, not sure what to do since he can’t very well talk to Iwa-chan about his problem when there are customers who might overhear. So instead he picks a pair of sunglasses he believes looks best on him and tries to talk Iwa-chan into giving it to him for free. He’s just gotten Iwa-chan to agree to use his employee discount, when the two who were flirting before approach the counter with arms full of snack foods.

Oikawa steps to the side to allow them to check out, taking the tag off his newly bought sunglasses in order to put them on. As Iwa-chan rings up the purchases, Oikawa feels something run into him from behind. He turns, lifting his sunglasses to look down at the third boy with the PSP.

“Excuse you,” he says.

The boy slowly lifts his head, blinking up at Oikawa blankly.

The next words on Oikawa’s tongue die instantly, as he stares down into those wide golden eyes. He feels transfixed, a slow shiver running down his spine, making his fingers and toes tingle. He knows he’s never seen this boy before, but at the same time it feels like he knows him. There’s a presence to him, an energy surrounding him, drawing Oikawa to him like a snake to a fire on a cold night.

“Do I know you?” he asks, his words coming out breathless.

The boy blinks again, shaking his head. Quickly, he ducks his head back down, but Oikawa still feels that sensation, that tickle along his skin. He starts to reach out, to ask the boy his name, but the boy deftly shifts away, following his friends out of the store at a brisk pace.

Oikawa watches him go, dazed. Something just happened, but he’s not sure what. All he knows is that boy is important. Somehow. He needs him for something. To help . . .

“Oi, Oikawa! What are you staring at?”

Oikawa jolts at the sound of Iwa-chan’s voice, breaking harshly through the haze covering his mind. He turns to look at his friend, not sure how to explain what just happened.

“That boy who was just in here . . .”

“Which one? There were three.” Iwa-chan is looking him strangely now, but Oikawa barely registers it. “Hey, are you okay? What’s with that face?”

Oikawa has no idea what face he’s making. He can’t seem to focus on anything. He feels likes he’s trapped underwater, and everything is moving slowly around him.

“I need him.”

“What?” Iwa-chan looks startled, and he takes a small step back. “Tooru, are you okay? What’s going on?”

Oikawa stares blankly back at Iwa-chan. A name comes to him. _Kenta_.

“Tooru! Snap out of it!”

A bright flare of pain shoots across his forehead, and Oikawa stumbles back with a small cry. He catches himself by grabbing the sunglasses stand, though it wobbles beneath his weight. Iwa-chan is standing in front of him, breathing hard and looking worried, though his eyes are bright with fear. Oikawa shakes his head, feeling the haze clearing as pain replaces it.

“Ow! Iwa-chan! Was that really necessary?” He rubs at the spot on his forehead that hurts the most, though his nose feels tender too. “You’re such a brute!”

Iwa-chan sighs shakily, running a hand through his hair. “You were caught in some sort of daze. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So you assaulted me? So mean!” Oikawa has to admit he’s feeling better, though. Despite the growing headache.

“I’m not going to apologize. You were being weird. Go ice your forehead in the break room, I’ll be back there as soon as my coworker gets here, okay?”

Oikawa sighs deeply. “Fine.” Turning, he flounces off to the break room. As soon as the door shuts behind him, however, he hugs his arms close to his chest. Instead of getting ice, he sits in a chair at the only table in the room. Closing his eyes, he gently presses his forehead to the cool surface.

 _What’s_ _wrong_ _with_ _me_ _now_? He can’t keep up with all the strange things that are happening with him.

He moves his hand, reaching up to touch the side of his neck. Beneath the glamor he can feel the markings in his skin, the raised, rough patches in their different shapes and designs. Slowly, he traces them down beneath the collar of his shirt to where they’ve spread across the back of his shoulder. They’ve nearly covered his entire left shoulder blade now. He hasn’t shown Iwa-chan.

It’s a reminder of how every day he’s becoming less human. He wonders if one day he’ll wake up and look in the mirror to see his entire being covered in these markings, with both eyes red, his fangs and horns and nails sharp as ever. He doesn’t want to become a monster, but at this point he wonders if it’s worth it to fight against the change. Would it be simpler to give in and allow the demon side of him to take over completely? If he retains his mind, perhaps he can convince the demons to stay in the Hell Mouth, or at least create a different one away from Japan. Maybe they could attack Australia instead. Fight the kangaroos.

He snorts softly at the mental picture that paints, and when Iwa-chan enters, he’s laughing to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

Oikawa lifts his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Demon hunting kangaroos,” he says, bursting into giggles again.

“What the hell?” Iwa-chan doesn’t seem to find the humor in this. In fact, he looks more worried than ever.

Oikawa stands, crossing over to wrap his arms around Iwa-chan’s neck. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan,” he says quietly. “I’m fine.” He nuzzles his face into the curve of his shoulder, until Iwa-chan’s arms come up around to hold him.

“I know you’re lying.”

“Shh.” Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, holding Iwa-chan tighter and reminding himself that this is a reason right here to stay. To not give in. He has to keep fighting for Iwa-chan. He has to become the best hunter in the world with his best friend, just like they planned when they were kids. It’s his promise to Iwa-chan, one that he takes very seriously.

He could never leave him.

“Come on, Shittykawa,” Iwa-chan says with affection, moving his hand up into Oikawa’s hair. “Let’s get you home before you get snot all over my work shirt.”

“But Iwa-chan, I’m not crying.”

Iwa-chan sighs, and the wet stains on his shirt shift with the movement. “Okay.”

 

  
Makki and Mattsun stand in front of him. Makki’s arms are crossed, and he’s frowning. Mattsun looks more apologetic, with his hands in his pockets. Oikawa feels about three feet tall, but he stands in the doorway with straight shoulders, keeping his chin up.

“Great, you’re here,” Iwa-chan says, stepping out from behind Oikawa.

Oikawa turns to him with a frown. “You called them?”

Iwa-chan just looks at him. “You would avoid this conversation forever if I let you, and that’s not productive for anyone.”

Oikawa steps back meekly, allowing his friends (former friends?) inside the house. They enter silently, and Oikawa can practically feel the awkwardness between them. Iwa-chan doesn’t seem awkward at all, as he leads the two into the living area as though it’s his own house, offering them tea or water (they both decline).

Oikawa shuts the door, shuffling along behind them and waiting for the yelling to start. He knows they’re angry, he can see it in the tight lines of Makki’s face, the hurt glances Mattsun keeps giving him. He readies himself with his defense, arranging his words in his mind that’ll convince them to stay, but before he can get any of them out, Makki turns to him and raises one, nonexistent eyebrow.

“So. Let’s see it.”

Oikawa blinks. “See what?”

“The tail.”

“The _what_?!” Oikawa gapes, scandalized, as Iwa-chan falls over laughing on the couch.

Makki’s lips are twitching, and Mattsun is staring very hard at the ceiling, lips pursed tightly.

“I don’t have a _tail_!” Oikawa yelps, glaring at Iwa-chan then. “Did you tell them I had a tail?!”

Iwa-chan’s laughing too hard to respond, the traitor.

“All the greater demons in books have tails!” Makki reasons. “They have horns and fangs and claws and markings, and a tail. Mattsun and I decided that we’ll be square if you show us your tail, because Oikawa Tooru with a tail is probably the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I do _not_ have a tail! I’m only _half_ demon!”

“Okay, but which half?” Mattsun asks.

Makki gestures to Mattsun, nodding emphatically. “A very important question. For instance, do you have a demon dick?”

Mattsun raises his eyebrows. “You mean all big and scaly like in those textbook drawings?”

“Yes, exactly,” Makki says. “Oikawa, do you have a big, scaly demon dick?”

Iwa-chan falls off the couch, his face red as he continues to howl. Even Mattsun has begun snickering, and Makki smirks, as Oikawa stamps his foot on the floor.

“No! I do not have a demon dick!”

“Prove it.”

“I’M NOT GOING TO SHOW YOU MY DICK, YOU PERVERTS!”

Oikawa can’t believe this. They’re all ganging up on him. This is worse than any scenario he could’ve imagined. He kicks at Iwa-chan on the floor. “You! Stop laughing!”

Iwa-chan just rolls away from his foot, struggling to stand as his body shakes. He wipes tears from his eyes, grinning helplessly. “No, no, Oikawa, please. Show them your demon dick.” He clutches his sides, as he doubles over with more laughter.

“I hate all of you!” Oikawa declares, storming away into the kitchen to stress eat some milk bread.

Eventually the laughter from the living room subsides, and Oikawa feels safe enough to venture back in. Aside from some snickering, Makki and Mattsun don’t make a sound when they see him, and Iwa-chan is blessedly silent, though his face is still red.

“You know you deserved that for hiding this from us,” Makki says pointedly, as Oikawa sits down on the couch beside Iwa-chan.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just . . . didn’t know how to tell you,” Oikawa admits with a sigh.

“Did you honestly think we’d turn you in?” Mattsun asks, blinking slowly. “You’re our best friend.”

“Yeah, I mean, I thought we all were best friends,” Makki says, gesturing around the four of them. “Best friends tell each other this shit, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says softly, looking down at his hands.

“Hey,” Iwa-chan nudges him gently with his elbow, until Oikawa looks back up. “They’re right. We’re all here for you. No matter what.”

“Yeah, besides, you saved our lives,” Makki says, laying his hand on Mattsun’s arm. “There’s no way we’d think you were some evil demon out to destroy the world after that.”

“Thanks guys,” Oikawa says, feeling his eyes welling with tears.

“No, no, none of that,” Makki says, pointing. “Come on. Let’s watch something awful and make ourselves sick on ice cream. You can tell us the whole story when you’re ready.”

Oikawa nods, smiling faintly. “Sounds good.”

While Makki and Mattsun argue over which movie to watch, Oikawa can’t help but feel like an idiot. Of course his friends would support him. He can’t believe he thought anything different. He still feels bad about lying, and he knows they won’t let him off easily for that, but he can tell that the bonds between them haven’t been broken, or even bent. He still trusts them, and he gets the feeling they still trust him.

It’s a nice feeling.

He hopes he doesn’t disappoint them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	11. one step closer

 

 

 

the hours of waiting have been transformed into tension,  
the tension has become fear,  
and the fear makes you embarrassed about showing affection.

\--paulo coelho, _by the river piedra i sat down and wept_

* * *

 

In retrospect, telling Matsukawa and Hanamaki about Tooru’s true identity may have been a mistake. It’s not that they’re not supportive. They’re perhaps a little _too_ supportive. Almost immediately they begin demanding to see Tooru’s demon markings, which leads to him texting or calling or clinging to Iwaizumi, loudly complaining about them. And Iwaizumi’s starting to lose his patience with the whole affair.

“Why don’t you just show them and get it over with?” he growls one night, as Tooru despairs over Hanamaki’s most recent text (which read “so are your hooves like goat hooves or horse ones?”).

“I _can’t_! They’ll mock me forever!” Tooru whines, flopping onto his bed.

“I don’t.”

“You implied I had a demon dick!”

“Oh, come on, that was funny.”

Tooru lifts his face from his pillow to give Iwaizumi a rather impressive glare. He sighs.

“Okay, fine, they’ll probably mock you a little, but then it’ll be over with and you can stop worrying about it. They’re your friends, Oikawa. They’re going to torment you, but they’re not going to act like you’re actually a demon.” Iwaizumi had been afraid of the two freaking out, of wanting to report Tooru to Principal Takeda or the DHS, but all those worries have faded now. Although Hanamaki privately admitted to Iwaizumi that he and Mattsun weren’t happy that he and Tooru decided they couldn’t be trusted, the two have shown no signs of harboring any true ill will toward them.

It’s a relief, honestly.

Tooru is silent a moment. His fingers pick absently at the edge of his pillow, which Iwaizumi notices is already starting to fray. He frowns.

“What?”

Tooru sighs, rolling onto his back. “Nothing. It’s just . . .” He lifts his left hand in front of his face, staring at his palm, before slowly turning it to look at the back of it. Iwaizumi watches the way his wrist twists in an almost delicate fashion, despite the strength he knows lies beneath that deceptively slender joint. “It’s spreading.”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “What do you mean ‘it’s spreading’?”

With a grimace, Tooru sits up. “Don’t freak out.”

“I’m going to throw this book at you if you don’t get to the point.” He reaches for one of Tooru’s textbooks, but Tooru quickly shakes his head, pulling his shirt up over his head then. Iwaizumi’s not expecting this response, and he freezes for a moment, his eyes latching onto the movement of muscle beneath Tooru’s skin on his torso and arms.

Tooru turns, placing his back to Iwaizumi, and lets his glamor fall.

Iwaizumi inhales sharply before he can stop himself. Tooru’s left shoulder blade is completely covered with the raised markings that spread up the side of his neck and face. They’ve begun creeping over the curve of his shoulder as well, stopping just below it. Without thinking, Iwaizumi stands, stepping forward to lay his fingers lightly on the designs. Tooru’s skin quivers beneath his touch, but he doesn’t move away, so Iwaizumi lightly traces over them with his fingertips.

“How long has it been like this?” he asks, his voice gruff on the lump that’s risen in his throat. He’s not sure how he feels about this. Fear mixes with worry in his stomach, making him feel ill. But at the same time, the shapes the markings take look beautiful, dark against Tooru’s pale skin, almost elegant in the way they swirl and fit together.

“I noticed it last week,” Tooru says, his head bowed.

Iwaizumi raises his gaze to the back of Tooru’s neck, the gentle slope of it. His horns look the same as they did the last time he saw them, curving up over his head. He has to resist the urge to touch them too, wondering what they feel like.

“You need to tell me these things,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh.

Tooru shakes his head. “I don’t like it when you see me like this. So . . . so ugly and not human.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Grabbing Tooru’s shoulder, he turns him around to face him, looking up into his eyes with a frown. “You’re still human,” he says firmly. “No matter what you look like. How many times do I need to tell you this?”

Tooru huffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “At least once more, apparently.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Iwaizumi says, his eyes suddenly fixed on that mouth. He swallows hard, remembering the brief kiss in the woods after the imp attack. He thinks about the secret admission to the dark of his room. He parts his lips, some part of him wanting to say it. But he knows he can’t. So he pushes back the words hovering on the tip of his tongue, moving his hand up to touch Tooru’s face instead.

Tooru starts, eyes widening, as Iwaizumi touches the raised markings on the side of Tooru’s face, running his thumb gently beneath that crimson eye. He knows he should stop, and he’s about to pull away, when Tooru begins to lean into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

Iwaizumi’s heart is pounding in his chest, working its way up into his throat, past his squeezing lungs. _Pull back idiot, this isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing._

Instead, he finds himself leaning forward, moving his hand around to the back of Tooru’s head, gripping the soft strands of hair, as he presses their mouths together. Tooru makes a soft, startled sound, but he doesn’t pull away. Iwaizumi isn’t really sure of what he’s doing, but he moves his lips gently, sliding them between Tooru’s. He steps back when he feels like his heart is choking him, cutting off his airway, and he struggles to breathe. Lowering his hand to his side, he curls it into a fist, not sure what to expect now.

Tooru opens his eyes, and he tilts his head slowly, studying Iwaizumi with those mismatched eyes, bright and calculating. Iwaizumi’s veins are hot beneath his skin, and he’s about to demand that Tooru say something, when a small smirk appears.

Iwaizumi blinks.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, his voice lilting. “Do you have a demon fetish?”

A surge of irritation pushes his heart back into place, and he puts his hand on Tooru’s chest, shoving him hard enough that he falls back on his bed with a soft yelp.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he says flatly, turning to leave the room. Tooru’s laughter rings in his ears, and they burn with embarrassment. _Idiot, idiot. You’re an idiot._ He shouldn’t have assumed Tooru would feel the same. He didn’t even kiss him back, Iwaizumi realizes suddenly.

_That’s two strikes, Hajime. Don’t make a third._

 

 **Nerdkawa**  
_Iwa-chan I’ve tried to call you like a billion times. don’t ignore meeeeee. It was a joke!_ (Saturday, 23:04)  
_are you mad cuz I didn’t kiss you back? You caught me off guard! I can do more than kiss you if you like ;P_ (Sunday, 09:34)  
_that was a joke too . . ._ (Sunday, 10:35)  
_Iwa-chan it’s okay if you’re gay, you know that right?_ (Sunday, 10:45)  
_it’s not obvious??? If you’re worried about that???_ (Sunday, 10:50)  
_come on Iwa-chan, I’m sorry for what I said. I got nervous! I didn’t know what to say!!!_ (Sunday, 10:55)

>> _stop texting me Shittykawa, I’m at work._ (Sunday, 11:45)

 **Nerdkawa**  
_IWA-CHAN!!! Can I come see you???_ (Sunday, 11:45)

>> _no._ (Sunday, 11:45)

 **Nerdkawa**  
_:( :( :(_ (Sunday, 11;45)

 

Thankfully, Tooru didn’t show up to stalk him at work. Iwaizumi isn’t sure what to make of his texts. They revealed nothing of how Tooru truly felt about the kiss. But that’s just like Tooru, he supposes. Expertly avoiding anything he doesn’t want to talk about. That’s fine with Iwaizumi, however. He’s not sure he wants to talk about it either.

Still, it gnaws at him throughout the day, and he doesn’t feel any better when he gets to school on Monday. Tooru’s classes are more advanced than his, so he doesn’t see him much throughout the day, and afterwards he goes to the library to meet with Kindaichi. Although they usually meet on Fridays, he’d asked him to switch to Monday this week because of his work schedule. When he gets there, however, he only sees Yahaba seated at the regular table, Kyoutani at his side dozing over his textbook, head resting on his folded arms.

Yahaba glances up from his note taking when Iwaizumi approaches.

“Good afternoon, Iwaizumi-san,” he says politely.

“Hey . . . is Kindaichi here already?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling out a chair and sitting down, placing his book bag on the floor next to him.

Yahaba shakes his head. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him all day.” He nudges Kyoutani beside him. “Ken, have you seen Kindaichi?”

“What am I, his babysitter?” Kyoutani grumbles, not opening his eyes.

“Apparently not,” Yahaba says, pursing his lips but looking amused.

“He’s just usually here before me,” Iwaizumi admits. “Him and Kunimi.”

“Oh. That’s strange then. Did you tell him you wanted to meet today?” Yahaba asks, tilting his head.

Iwaizumi nods. He checks his phone then, scrolling past the ten new messages Tooru sent him in the past hour (something about Hanamaki and Matsukawa attempting to catch him with his glamor down), to where he exchanged texts with Kindaichi. Sure enough, in reply to his “can we meet on Monday instead of Friday?” text, Kindaichi wrote, “sure thing, Iwaizumi-san!”

“Something seems off about those two lately,” Yahaba muses aloud.

Iwaizumi glances up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t noticed?” At Iwaizumi’s shake of his head, Yahaba continues. “It’s not very obvious, but it’s something about their eyes. They don’t seem as . . . lively as usual.”

“Huh.”

“They could just be tired,” Yahaba amends. “Ever since the imp attack they’ve been training much harder. We all have.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t like to be reminded of that day. Matsukawa’s side is still healing, and Hanamaki’s scar above his eye is a constant reminder of how close they’d been to losing them both.

He still has no idea how Tooru knew they were in trouble. Nor has he figured out how he just disappeared and then reappeared beside him during the fight. He hasn’t worked up the courage to ask about the extent of Tooru’s demon powers. Worry twists in his stomach whenever he thinks about it. It’s rather ironic that in order to grow strong enough to defeat his father Tooru has to channel his demon abilities. Every day he gets closer to becoming the thing he hates in order to succeed in his mission.

Iwaizumi sighs, not sure what to do while he waits. He pulls out his phone again, frowning down Tooru’s messages.

>> _they’re not going to leave you alone until you show them, you know. Might as well suck it up, be a man, and do it already._ (16:34)

 **Nerdkawa**  
_I managed to escape by the skin of my teeth. I’m on the training grounds. Join me?_ (16:34)

>> _I can’t. I’m tutoring._ (16:35)

 **Nerdkawa**  
_bleeeeh. When you’re done then!_ (16:36)

>> _you better not be still training when I’m done. You pushed yourself in class today. Don’t overdo it._ (16:36)

 **Nerdkawa**  
_yes mom~_ (16:37)

Iwaizumi shakes his head, trying not to smile. He’s just about to reply when he hears someone clear their throat. He glances up, expecting Kindaichi, but instead finds himself looking up into Kunimi’s face. It’s devoid of emotion or inflection, and his eyes are dark and flat. Iwaizumi suppresses a shiver. He glances over at Yahaba, who is watching him now, chewing on the edge of his lip. Even Kyoutani has lifted his head from his arms, frowning faintly.

“Uh, hey Kunimi. Where’s Kindaichi?” Iwaizumi asks, glancing behind him.

“He’s not here.” Kunimi’s voice is just as cold as his gaze. “I just came to tell you that he won’t be needing your tutelage anymore.”

Iwaizumi blinks. “Oh.” He can’t help the slight twinge of hurt in his chest. “Is there a problem?”

Kunimi rolls his eyes. “You’re not the only one who can teach him things. He’s realized that there are better people to learn from.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Like who?”

Kunimi smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s razor sharp, dripping with venom. He bows. “Have a nice day, Iwaizumi-san.”

He turns to leave. Iwaizumi watches him go, not sure why he feels like he just got dunked in ice cold water. He glances over at Yahaba, who’s also watching Kunimi leave, his face settled in a concerned frown.

“Did you see it?” He turns to look at Iwaizumi, knuckles white as he grips his pen tightly.

Iwaizumi nods. Those eyes . . . Kunimi’s entire presence had radiated something dark, sinister. Iwaizumi never really paid much attention to Kunimi in the past, the kid being quiet and apparently content to nap or lounge around the library while he tutored Kindaichi. But he can tell that there’s something wrong. He’s not sure what, but he feels unsettled.

Standing, he bows to Yahaba and Kyoutani. “I’ll keep an eye on him and Kindaichi. It might be nothing.”

“Right, of course,” Yahaba says lightly, but one look at his expression tells Iwaizumi that he doesn’t believe that.

As he leaves the library and heads toward the back of the school, he can’t help but groan, running his hands over his face.

Great. Another thing to worry about.

His chest feels heavy, as he pushes open the back door of the school and steps outside. The sun is low in the sky but it’s still warm, though autumn is right around the corner. He makes his way down the crest of the hill to the training grounds below. He sees that the obstacles have already been placed around the arena, tall wooden walls on wheels, mannequin dummies set up as adversaries in various places. Tooru even pulled out the device all the students lovingly call “The Punisher,” which is a robot designed to follow movement and shoot paintballs.

As Iwaizumi approaches, it’s tailing Tooru through the obstacles, twirling its head and shooting at him whenever he appears in its line of vision. From what Iwaizumi can tell, Tooru’s managed to avoid getting hit so far. He waits until The Punisher is close to Tooru before calling out to him.

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Tooru spins toward his voice, and The Punisher takes its shot. Tooru yelps, leaping away and rubbing at his backside where a blue spatter of paint now stains. Iwaizumi laughs, even as Tooru avoids the second shot and deflects it off his sword. He has a pistol in a holster at his side (containing more paintball pellets), and he pulls it out to shoot at The Punisher, hitting its reset button. The robot’s cannons lower, and it turns to wheel back to its starting position.

“Iwa-chan! Don’t distract me while I’m training!” Tooru pouts, as Iwaizumi enters the arena.

“Don’t let yourself get distracted,” Iwaizumi says, shaking his head. He pulls off his uniform jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves then. “What sequences have you done already?”

“Five and three,” Tooru says, blowing his hair out of his eyes. He’s panting softly, dirt smeared across his forehead, no doubt from an arm wiping away sweat. “I was just about to do seven.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “We haven’t covered seven yet in class.”

“I know, but I’ve already studied the pattern. I’m sure I can do it.” Tooru grins carelessly, beautifully.

Iwaizumi crosses over to the rack of weapons set up near the stands. Although he prefers a crossbow, he chooses a broadsword, knowing he needs to work on his close combat skills anyway. While imps were easy to shoot from afar, greater demons are trickier. He’s never come in contact with one, but from the books he’s read they can appear human. Which means they can fight like humans.

He twirls the blade in his hand experimentally. It’s heavy, but he’s lifted heavier at the gym. He steps over to Tooru’s side, and his friend gives him a quick grin.

“If we lose you’re buying dinner,” Iwaizumi says flatly.

Tooru’s grin disappears. “But Iwa-chan!” he whines. “You know I don’t have money for that!”

“Then don’t lose.”

Tooru frowns, turning to where The Punisher sits in its corner, waiting. “Perform Sequence 7,” he calls to it.

The light near its reset button flashes red. “Calculating.” The artificial voice comes from a speaker on its side and sounds deceptively pleasant. “Sequence 7 found. Engaging.” The light turns green, and The Punisher begins to wheel forward, its cannons rising.

“Follow my lead.” Tooru leans over to whisper this into Iwaizumi’s ear for absolutely no reason, leaving his skin feeling itchy and warm. He doesn’t have time to scold him for it, as Tooru suddenly shouts, “Left!”

He jumps to his left, Tooru following suit. The paintball pellet sails past them, splattering on one of the wooden walls.

“What’s the objective in Sequence 7?” Iwaizumi asks, annoyed that Tooru’s given him no time to prepare.

“Don’t get hit. Down!”

Iwaizumi throws himself onto the ground, as another pellet flies over their heads. He frowns. That was quick. Normally the robot gives you more time to get away before firing its next shot.

“Don’t fucking mess with me,” Iwaizumi growls, getting to his feet as Tooru hops up.

“We have to reset it, of course. But it’s going to move faster and shoot more accurately, so we have to be careful. You only get three hits before it’s game over.”

“How are we supposed to get close to it then?” Iwaizumi asks, stumbling as Tooru pushes him to the right. The Punisher is getting closer, and that last pellet grazes past Tooru’s arm, leaving a blue streak in its wake.

“Diversion tactics,” Tooru says, grinning breathlessly. He salutes then, before pulling out his pistol once more and shooting at the robot. “Yahoo Punisher-san~ come and get me!” Spinning on his heel, Tooru takes off, running further into the arena.

The robot takes after him, moving faster than Iwaizumi is expecting. He leaps toward it, reaching for the button on the side, but it’s gone before he can reach it, and he tucks into a roll before he can land on his face. Grimacing, he jumps to his feet, taking off after it.

Tooru weaves in and out of the walls, avoiding the paint pellets and deflecting those he can’t off his sword. The robot stops only when Tooru is out of its sight, rotating slowly in search for him. Iwaizumi knows he can’t jump out and hit the button while it's doing this, because the moment he moves out from his own hiding spot it’ll train its weapons on him. That means he has to hit it while it’s moving, though how he’s supposed to do that when the damned thing is so fast he has no idea.

“What’s the next pattern?” he calls, crouching behind a wall. Cautiously, he peers out from behind it but has to quickly duck back as the robot fires at him.

He’s answered with silence. Gritting his teeth, he inwardly curses his best friend. “Oikawa!’

“I’m thinking!”

“Think faster! I’m pinned down here.”

“Okay, okay. If you head straight for it, it should aim for your legs first, then your stomach, than your chest, in that order.”

“It _should_?”

“I’ve never done this sequence before, Iwa-chan!”

“Ugh. Dumbass.” Iwaizumi huffs, stealing himself. Inhaling deeply, he jumps out from his hiding place. Immediately the robot fires. He lowers his sword, deflecting the pellet before it can hit his legs. Not a second later another pellet flies toward his stomach. He raises his sword, blocking that shot as well, before moving his sword further up to block the one aimed at his chest. By this time he’s close enough to the robot to reach for its reset button.

He dives for it, but the robot spins away. “Shit! It moved!”

“Okay, I’m coming!” Tooru appears two walls down, face set in grim determination, even as his eyes gleam. He spins his sword, deflecting the first and second pellets easily. While the robot is distracted, Iwaizumi leaps forward again, slamming his hand against the button before it can fire off its third shot.

The cannons lower, and the robot turns to wheel itself back into its corner. Iwaizumi drops to his knees, panting.

Tooru smirks at him. “I told you we could do it.”

“You couldn’t have done it by yourself,” Iwaizumi snorts softly, using his sword to help himself stand.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you came to join me, hmm?” Tooru’s eyes are bright, and he seems happy. Iwaizumi remembers the imp attack, how excited Tooru seemed while fighting the monsters, how _alive_ he’d been. Somehow Iwaizumi gets the feeling that this was what Tooru was made for. He was built to fight, to battle, to use that brain of his, his fast reflexes and strength to defeat opponents.

Iwaizumi just hopes the opponents he chooses will always be demons.

“Do you want to spar with me, Iwa-chan? We still have a few minutes of daylight left.” Tooru lifts his sword, pointing it toward Iwaizumi. He tilts his head, smiling faintly.

Iwaizumi eyes the sword point skeptically. “No,” he says shortly. He moves toward the rack to put up his own sword.

Tooru follows him, frowning. “Come on, Iwa-chan. Or are you afraid I’m going to beat you?” He smirks, and that gives Iwaizumi pause.

“Hardly.” He turns back, snorting. Twirling his blade, he returns Tooru’s smirk. “I’m afraid you’re going to cry when I kick your ass, and I don’t want to deal with that.”

“So mean. You’re the one who’s going to get his ass kicked, Iwa-chan.” Tooru raises his own weapon, his smirk sliding into a grin, that red tinted gleam entering his eyes.

“Bring it on, crybaby.”

The thing about fighting Tooru is that, for all his grand gestures and loud emotions, he’s really a master at subtlety and manipulation. It’s difficult to read him when he gets serious, and Iwaizumi finds himself unprepared when Tooru shifts weight to his right foot but then swings at him from the left.

He hops back to avoid the hit, quickly meeting Tooru’s swing with his blade. He grunts softly at the strength behind the swing, before pushing back. Getting his sword free, he lunges for Tooru’s side. Tooru quickly sidesteps, bringing his elbow down toward Iwaizumi’s back. He twists away, knocking Tooru’s arm aside with his, and taking a swing at his unprotected ribs. Tooru quickly switches hands, however, able to block Iwaizumi’s blow long enough to step back and readjust.

“Learn some finesse, Iwa-chan. You can’t just go attacking with brute force. You’re not an animal,” Tooru says primly.

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, not rising to the bait. He watches Tooru’s form, trying to gauge which way he’ll strike next. Slowly, Tooru begins to circle him, causing him to turn as well to avoid leaving his back open for attack. Tooru’s eyes are calculating, sharp as steel. As he walks, his steps are measured, unhurried. He looks relaxed, even as Iwaizumi stands tense, gripping his weapon, ready for anything.

“Hm, you know, you look almost handsome like this, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says lightly.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, startled.

In that moment, Tooru strikes, swinging his blade up to smack it against Iwaizumi’s hand, quick as a snake. Iwaizumi’s hand burns from the contact, but he manages to maintain his grip, jumping out of reach.

“That’s not fair,” Iwaizumi growls.

“All’s fair in love and war, Iwa-chan~” Tooru sings, grinning deviously.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to fall for it again.”

“Of course not.” Tooru says approvingly. “I don’t expect you to.”

 _Such a pain . . ._ Iwaizumi doesn’t wait for him to try something else. He charges forward, bringing his sword down as hard as he can against Tooru’s. This time it’s Tooru who stumbles back in surprise, his eyes widening just slightly. Iwaizumi feels a brief glow of triumph, as he presses down harder, pushing Tooru to one knee. He can see the strain in Tooru’s face, the pinched lines near his mouth that tell him he’s unhappy with this result. Before Iwaizumi can gloat, however, Tooru disappears.

Iwaizumi doesn’t have time to catch himself. He falls forward onto the ground with a grunt, nearly losing grip on his sword. He manages to keep it, but he quickly gets up, heart racing. Where did he go? He didn’t even know Tooru could do that.

“Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi whirls around just in time to see Tooru standing over him, sword flying toward his face. He quickly brings his own up, holding the hilt with both hands, as Tooru presses down against him in the same way Iwaizumi had before. He’s grinning almost manically, that red gleam in his eyes stronger than ever.

“Just admit it, Iwa-chan. I’m superior in every way: looks, charm, swordplay.”

“You’re a piece of shit who uses cheap tricks to manipulate the game to your favor,” Iwaizumi says through gritted teeth, feeling his muscles straining against the weight of Tooru pushing down against him. He can feel himself shifting, and he adjusts his position. He’s still kneeling in the dirt, but he squares his shoulders and hips, distributing the weight better in order to maintain his hold.

Tooru hums softly, tilting his head closer to Iwaizumi’s. “Don’t you think I should use my gifts to my advantage?” For a moment, his gaze seems to flicker toward Iwaizumi’s lips, eyes hooded.

Iwaizumi glances down, noting which leg Tooru is placing the most pressure on. “Gifts aren’t everything,” he says, looking back into Tooru’s face, allowing his own to move closer over the swords trembling between them. Very slowly, he licks his bottom lip, trying not to let the interest in Tooru’s gaze spark anything inside him.

“Oi, Oikawa,” he murmurs.

“Hm?” Tooru’s leaning closer, their breaths mixing.

“You’re too easy.” Abruptly, Iwaizumi brings his head forward, knocking his forehead against Tooru’s as hard as he can.

Tooru squawks, reeling back, and despite the pain ringing through his skull, Iwaizumi shoves all his weight forward, half-standing before bringing his leg up to hook it around Tooru’s giving it a quick tug that sends him sprawling onto his back. Quickly, Iwaizumi straddles him, grabbing his sword arm with one hand to pin it down and pressing the blade of his sword against Tooru’s throat.

“You cheated,” Tooru says, pouting slightly.

“I didn’t cheat. You let your guard down.”

“You manipulated me!”

“Like you weren’t trying to do the same thing.”

Tooru opens his mouth and then closes it abruptly. Surprisingly, a faint blush colors his cheeks. He looks away, and Iwaizumi feels suddenly awkward on top of him like this. He moves to stand, holding out his hand to help Tooru up. Once they’re both on their feet, he walks over to the rack again to hang up his sword. He notices Tooru being suspiciously quiet behind him, but he tries not to let that bother him. He’s not entirely sure what just happened, but he wouldn’t put it past Tooru to use a kiss to win a duel.

He’s 89% positive that Tooru would’ve immediately disarmed him if he’d allowed a kiss to happen. It was just another one of his tricks. That’s all it was.

All’s fair in love and war.

Still, Iwaizumi’s heart is racing much too quickly for the brief spar they had, and he rubs at the back of his neck, as he turns to face Tooru. He wants to ask. He wants to know for sure if Tooru was about to kiss him only to win. But he can’t bring himself to form the words.

“Come on. Let’s shower and go home. You need to eat.”

Tooru blinks. “Oh, we’re stopping now?”

“The sun’s almost completely gone. Yeah, we’re stopping.” Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you do another sequence, did you? Three is enough.”

Tooru makes a face. “My stamina is better than yours. I could do another _five_ sequences. Look at me. I’m barely sweating.” He wrinkles his nose. “You on the other hand . . .”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, stepping forward to grab Tooru’s wrist. “We’re going home now. There's the curfew too, remember?”

Tooru sighs. “Okay, okay. If you going to be so _pushy_ about it.” He shakes his head, pulling his wrist out of Iwaizumi’s grasp. He puts up the sword and pistol, before he walks over to completely turn off The Punisher.

Iwaizumi waits by the edge of the arena, grabbing his jacket and book bag, flexing his fingers slowly. They’re sore from his tight grip, and already his muscles are aching. Tooru’s gotten stronger, there’s no doubt about that. Iwaizumi isn’t sure he would’ve been able to get out of that predicament if he hadn’t used Tooru’s tactic against him.

If it was a tactic.

His head hurts.

“It’s true, you know,” Tooru says lightly, as they make their way back inside the school and head for the showers.

“What is?”

“You’re handsome when you fight. I don’t know why but you’re one of those people who once you get that determined look, that sharpened gaze and clenched jaw, you look attractive.” Tooru hums softly. “All dirty and sweaty . . . the rough look suits you. Even with the terrible eyebrows.”

Iwaizumi can feel his ears burning. “What the hell?” he mutters, not sure what else to say. It’s not often that Tooru actually _compliments_ him. It’s about as often as Iwaizumi compliments Tooru. He wonders if he should do so now in return, mention how alive and beautiful Tooru looks when he’s battling.

Tooru snaps his fingers. “You know what we should do? We should ask Principal Takeda if you can be our mascot!’

Iwaizumi immediately frowns and decides against returning the compliment. “What.”

“Yeah, we can use you for the cover of our newsletter! We could put you on our posters! You can be shirtless and striking a muscle pose like ‘Join Aoba Johsai and you can look like this m—ow!”

Tooru rubs his head from where Iwaizumi smacked it.

“Shut the fuck up, dumbass!” Iwaizumi growls. “There’s no way in hell I’m doing that.”

“But Iwa-chan, think of your _muscles_. They deserve their fifteen minutes of fame!”

“I’m going to towel-whip you if you don’t stop right now.”

Tooru laughs, skirting around the next swat of Iwaizumi’s hand to duck into the locker rooms. Iwaizumi shakes his head, following him and trying to get his neck and ears to stop burning.

He really has the worst best friend in the world.

 

 

***

 

Summer gives way to autumn, and as the days’ heat begins to fade, the leaves changing color and falling upon grass and pavement and passersby, Kenma finds himself venturing more and more into the past. He spends his time not at school or his grandmother’s shop sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, traveling back in time to learn more about Kenta, about Kuroo, and their lives together. And when he’s not doing that, he’s asking Kuroo questions about himself directly, about his life before Kenta found him. Despite the personal nature of these questions, Kuroo never seems to mind answering them.

Nearly every night, Kenma allows Kuroo inside, and they sit together in the kitchen or on the couch, playing their own version of 20 Questions, while snacking on popcorn, drinking tea, or even playing video games (Kenma’s teaching Kuroo). He learns that Kuroo’s parents were merchants, selling dye and spices. They lived comfortable lives before the raiders came. Kuroo was found by a neighbor after the attack who took him in as his own son, but the man was poor, could barely keep them fed and clothed, and so Kuroo turned to his life of crime. At first it was just so they could live better, easier lives. Then it became a quest for vengeance. When he turned sixteen, he left his adoptive father with the money he’d saved and struck out on his own on his search for the raiders that killed his parents.

Kuroo learns things about Kenma too, though he tends to keep his questions less personal. He asks about Kenma’s favorite color (red), his favorite food (apple pie), his favorite game (unanswerable, Kenma loves too many). He stays away from questions about Kenma’s parents and about his future, apparently content with learning these small, seemingly insignificant details about him. Kenma doesn’t understand, but he answers the questions willingly, unable to help but feel pleased by the attention.

Even Mori and Lev begin to warm up to him. He becomes less antagonistic towards them, and in return they don’t watch him like he’s going to attack Kenma at any moment. And when Kuroo offers to show Lev some self-defense tactics, he becomes Lev’s new favorite person (much to Mori’s chagrin).

“I don’t get why _he_ has to show Lev how to fight,” he gripes to Kenma. “I can show him these things too.”

Kenma simply hides a smile and wonders when his friends will catch on to the fact that they’re both crushing on the other.

Keiji, on the other hand, continues to caution Kenma against Kuroo. “There’s a darkness clinging to him,” he says softly. “I don’t trust it.”

Kenma tries not to feel irritated, knowing Keiji is simply trying to look out for him. But it seems rather hypocritical for Keiji to talk about Kuroo’s darkness when he’s harboring his own.

Besides, he doesn’t know Kuroo the way Kenma does. He hasn’t seen the way Kuroo leapt to protect Kenta at all costs, how he abandoned a mission once when Kenta fell under a rival witch’s curse, how he helped him bathe with tender hands, held him close in the night, gasped his name like a prayer as they made love. Keiji doesn’t know these things, but Kenma does, and he stores each new memory away like he’s hoarding gems in a treasure chest. He’s starting to see Kuroo the way Kenta did, and it’s difficult to ignore the affection that wells up in him as he watches the Kuroo of the past stop to rescue kittens, or assist a older woman with her broken cart, or simply just smile at a sunset or at Kenta in the dim light of their room.

And when Kuroo takes Kenta’s hand and pledges his love to him, vowing to never leave his side, Kenma’s hand trembles, and an ache he doesn’t quite understand forms in his chest.

The month of September passes in a whirlwind of memories and strange emotions, and Kenma’s not sure what to do with any of it.

 

_He’s standing in a dark room, facing three men in masks. Tied to a chair in front of him is Kuroo, his head bowed, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. Kenma feels a tremor in his chest, but he keeps his features impassive, hands folded in the sleeves of his robe._

_”Give us the dagger, or we’ll slit his throat,” one of the masked men jeers. He’s the tallest of the three, with broad shoulders and a scar on the back of his hand._

_”Why should I be concerned with his life?” Kenma asks coolly, the calm of his voice belying the panicked beating of his heart._

_”We’ve done our research. He is your lover, is he not?” A shorter man speaks, his voice a lower register than the first. He shifts on his feet, his sword rising to Kuroo’s neck._

_Kenma blinks slowly. “I barely know this man. I have no emotional ties to him. I do believe it would be a mistake to kill him, however, considering there’s a bounty on his head.”_

_This gives the men pause, and they exchange looks._

_Kenma raises his eyebrows. “Did you not recognize him? This is The Black Cat. A well-known thief. The Emperor is offering a hefty reward for his capture.”_

_”How do we know you’re not just lying to keep us from killing him?”_

_”Check his pockets. I hear he always carries a wanted poster because he enjoys looking at himself.”_

_As the shorter man steps towards Kuroo to check his clothes, Kenma murmurs an incantation, loosening Kuroo’s bonds. When the man bends to check his pockets, Kuroo brings his knee up, smashing it into the man’s nose. Instantly he drops, and while the others are frozen in shock, Kuroo pulls free of his restraints, grabbing the short man’s sword and using it to stab the tall man in the stomach, before pulling it out to lob off the third man’s right arm before he can manage to draw his own weapon._

_”Go! Go!” Kuroo waves his arm at Kenma._

_Kenma turns swiftly, racing out of the room and up a flight of stairs. A corridor extends before him, multiple doors on either side, but he knows which way to turn. With Kuroo at his heels, he barges through the second door on his left, racing out into the courtyard. It’s dark outside, but lanterns begin to flicker to life, as the sentries catch on to what’s happening._

_”Intruders!” they cry. “Intruders in the estate!”_

_Kenma reaches behind him for Kuroo’s hand. He grasps it immediately, and Kenma clutches it tightly, despite the sweat and blood making his skin slick. He says the spell for the glamor, and when the guards enter the courtyard, swords drawn, they see nothing but the trees that have always stood there. Confused, they search the area before deciding the thieves must still be inside._

_They don’t think to count the trees, otherwise they would find two more than there should be._

_Kenma waits until the sounds of shouting and the light from the torches fades away, before he tugs Kuroo gently over to the side door in the wall. The servants’ entrance. They slide out into the night, disappear into the trees surrounding the estate, with the bronze dagger safely tucked away in Kenma’s belt._

_He doesn’t release Kuroo’s hand until they’re a safe distance away and they come to a stream. He gives Kuroo a small shove then, toward the water._

_”Clean yourself off. You reek of sweat and blood.”_

_Kuroo does so without a word. Kenma watches him, as he strips down to his loincloth, stepping into the water to begin washing his skin. Kenma studies the lines of his body, the curve of muscle beneath skin, the strength of his arms and calves and thighs. In the two years they’ve been traveling together, doing the Emperor’s bidding, Kuroo’s grown in strength and skill. He was much quicker at dispatching those men than the last time they had to fight their way out of a similar situation._

_”I like to look at myself, huh? Way to make me sound like an arrogant bastard,” Kuroo says with a soft chuckle, running his fingers through his hair._

_Kenma raises his eyebrows. “Are you implying that you’re not?” he asks, his voice flat._

_Kuroo loses his smile. “You know I don’t think that highly of myself.”_

_Kenma hums absently. Kuroo steps out of the water, still dripping, and Kenma lowers the pack from his back, pulling out some clean clothes. He tosses them onto the ground in front of Kuroo, but he steps over them. Kenma takes a step back, as Kuroo approaches, a frown settling over his features._

_”Are you angry with me?” he asks._

_”You took an unnecessary risk and put yourself in danger. I can’t say I’m very happy about that,” Kenma says, looking away._

_”I thought I recognized that vase. It looked like the style from my village. I just wanted to know if he was connected to the raiders or not. How was I supposed to know that there’d be other thieves there?”_

_Kenma sighs, looking back up at Kuroo, who’s watching him with a contrite expression. He purses his lips. “I suppose you couldn’t have known. But you can’t allow your personal agenda to get in the way of our mission.”_

_”I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” When Kenma doesn’t respond, Kuroo reaches out to touch his cheek lightly. “Kenta . . . I’m sorry.”_

_Kenma leans into the touch, unable to help it. “I was scared,” he admits softly. “If they’d noticed me loosening your restraints . . .”_

_”I know, I know.” Kuroo moves his hand to the back of Kenma’s head, pulling him close to wrap his other arm around him. Kenma reaches up to grip his bare back with his fingers, digging in to push himself as close to Kuroo as possible. Kuroo buries his nose in Kenma’s hair, exhaling a gentle sigh. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”_

_It’s an impossible promise, but Kenma appreciates the sentiment. He closes his eyes, pressing his face into the warmth of Kuroo’s chest, despite its damp state. “Those men knew who we were. We’ll have to be more cautious.”_

_Kuroo strokes his hand over his hair soothingly. “Let’s not think about that right now,” he says quietly. He pulls back, placing his hand beneath Kenma’s chin to lift his face. “Thank you for saving my life.”_

_”I can’t do this without you,” Kenma murmurs._

_Kuroo smiles faintly. “You could.”_

_Kenma shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”_

_Kuroo’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss him. Kenma rises on his toes to meet him halfway, fingers gripping his skin harder as he slides his lips against Kuroo’s. Warmth spreads through him, and he allows Kuroo to gently guide them to the forest floor, never breaking the kiss. His mouth is soft yet eager, and he licks into Kenma’s mouth with a quiet moan. Kenma arches his back, pressing his body against Kuroo’s, moving one hand further up his spine to grip his hair, twisting his fingers into the wet strands and tugging slightly. Kuroo grunts, and his kiss grows hungrier. He bites down on Kenma’s lower lip, sucking on it, before moving his lips to Kenma’s jaw, his neck, trailing hot kisses down the line of his throat, as his hands begin to pull apart Kenma’s robes._

_Heat gathers in his stomach, pooling low and spreading through his limbs. He trembles, and Kuroo breaths a soft sigh against his skin._

_”Kenta.”_

 

Kenma pulls himself out of the memory, panting softly, his face flushed. Despite his body’s reaction to the events that just happened, he finds himself feeling irritated. He’s not sure why, but Kenta’s name on Kuroo’s lips just then had felt wrong. Kenma didn’t want him saying that name while he was with him. While his hands were moving on him, while his lips . . .

Then Kenma remembers with a grimace that it’s not him in the memory. It’s Kenta. Kuroo’s never been with him in that way, and he probably never will be. They’re just friends, and Kenma’s starting to realize that perhaps allowing the memories to progress this far is a bad idea.

He finds himself longing for Kuroo in ways that are inappropriate for friendship.

_It’s just the memories. They’re affecting me . . ._

Moving off his bed, Kenma pads downstairs into the quiet of his living room. Mori and Lev left hours ago, as curfew went into effect. The DHS still hasn’t been able to curb the increase of imp activity, and everyone is on high alert. Especially considering people have started to go missing as well. Just last week Kenma heard about a woman who left her daughter at a gas station. She’d gone inside to pay and never came back out. No body was found either.

Kuroo said something similar happened back right before the demon armies attacked the Emperor’s palace. Right before Kenta was forced to kill him.

“The half-breed bastard Daishou placed some sort of spell over them. He had men and demons working for him to open the Hell Mouth.”

Kenma doesn’t like the sound of that.

He steps into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate, nearly dropping his mug when there’s a knock on the door. Frowning, he sets down the cup and walks over to the front door. Kuroo never knocks. He waits outside in his cat form until Kenma allows him inside. Rising on his toes, he peers through the peephole. Lev stands in front of the door, green eyes glowing strangely in the porch light.

Frowning, Kenma moves to open the door. “Haiba-kun? What are you doing here? It’s after curfew.”

“I needed to see you. Can I come in?”

He sounds strange, and what’s even stranger is the look in his eyes. While they generally light up with excitement whenever he sees Kenma, now they’re dark, almost calm, and while there’s definite interest in his eyes, it’s not the kind that makes Kenma feel embarrassed like he’s being put on a pedestal. It gives him a shivering feeling in his stomach, as it twists uneasily.

Something’s not right.

“Um, I think you should go home,” Kenma says, pulling the door closer to his side. “We can talk tomorrow.”

He starts to close the door, but Lev sticks out his hand, pressing against the wood of the door to stop him. “I need to see you. Now.”

Kenma’s heart pounds faster. He pushes against the door, attempting to close it, but Lev’s taller and stronger, and he uses that leverage to force Kenma back and the door wider. He steps past the threshold, and Kenma’s throat closes with panic.

“The king needs you. I’m going to bring you to him. Okay?” Lev tilts his head, smiling. It stretches across his face unnaturally, and Kenma turns to run. Faster than should be humanly possible, Lev reaches out and grabs his arm, yanking him back.

Kenma cries out sharply, as he’s assaulted with Lev’s aura. It’s not bright gold like it should be, sparking with bits of pink that represent his joy. It’s pure black, thick and oppressive, billowing off him like smoke.

This isn’t Lev.

“Let go of me!” Kenma lifts his other hand, parts his lips to say the incantation to blast Lev back, but quickly he moves to clasp his other hand against Kenma’s mouth, shaking his head.

“No, no, don’t do that. Come on, Kozume-kun. The king needs you. You have to help him. Okay?”

Kenma claws at Lev’s arm, kicks at his legs, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He begins to drag him out the door, but before they can leave the porch, a blast of red light hits his shoulder, knocking him off balance. Kenma uses that opportunity to shove against his chest, causing him to fall backwards off the porch.

Immediately Kuroo is on top of him, his face twisted into a snarl. He’s naked, but radiating with anger, red sparks dancing off his skin. He shoves his palm against Lev’s chest and Kenma quickly turns his face away as the small explosion brightens the yard, bathing it in crimson light, before fading away.

Kenma slowly turns back to find Kuroo kneeling in a patch of charred grass. Kenma swallows hard, biting his lip. Nothing remains of Lev, not even a shoe. Slowly, Kuroo stands. He turns to face Kenma and must see the horror in his expression, because his eyes widen, and he quickly steps forward, hands outstretched in a placating gesture.

“It wasn’t Haiba!” he says quickly. “It was just a glamor. A trickster demon. They do grunt work for the greater demons. They take the form of those close to their target. It wasn’t really him, I promise.”

Kenma blinks at him, attempting to calm his racing heart. The look in his eyes is sincere, and Kenma’s seen it enough times in his memories to know that Kuroo is telling the truth. Swallowing hard, he nods, noticing then Kuroo’s nakedness and turning his gaze to the floorboards of the porch, his cheeks feeling warm.

“Oh.” Kuroo seems to realize his situation and after a moment a black cat steps into Kenma’s lowered gaze, rubbing up against his leg with a soft mew. Kenma bends to pick him up, allowing himself to press his face into the warm soft fur of the cat. He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until then, and the sinister smile on the demon’s face looms in his mind.

What did it mean by “the king needs you”? Why had it come for him?

And how did it know his name?

The cat purrs, rubbing his head against Kenma’s gently. Turning, Kenma carries him inside, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He doesn’t let go of him, as he makes his way into the master bedroom, his parents’ bedroom, and finds his dad’s robe in the closet like always. It’s only then that he sets both the cat and the robe down on the bed. He faces the wall, waiting until he feels a gentle hand on his arm to turn back.

Kuroo looks down at him with a worried frown. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

Kenma shakes his head. Without a word, he moves forward, wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s waist. Kuroo stiffens momentarily, and Kenma curls his fingers into the soft material of his father’s robe, pressing his face against the warmth of Kuroo’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat quickening, but when Kuroo lifts his arms to hold Kenma in return, his touch is tender, comforting.

Kenma trembles, gripping Kuroo tighter. This isn’t a memory. This isn’t Kuroo holding Kenta and Kenma only feeling the sensations of it through a vision. This is real, this is Kuroo running his hand soothingly up and down Kenma’s back, burying his nose in _Kenma’s_ hair, murmuring that _Kenma_ is going to be all right.

And Kenma realizes that he doesn’t want to let go.

“Stay with me,” he says softly.

Kuroo’s hand stills on Kenma’s back. “Are you sure?”

Kenma nods. “I want you to. For tonight and . . . and every night.”

Kuroo leans back then, looking down at Kenma in surprise. “You want me to move in with you?”

Kenma nods, wondering if that wasn’t clear. Kuroo steps back further, running a hand through his hair. He looks nervous.

“What about your parents?”

“You can be a cat when they’re here.”

“What about Yaku and Haiba?”

“They want me to be safe.”

Kuroo bites his lip. “What about Akaashi?”

Kenma hesitates. “He wants me to be safe too,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Hey.” Kuroo’s voice is gentle, tentative.

Kenma lifts his gaze to meet his.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

“I know.” Kenma knows. He reaches for Kuroo’s hand, picking it up and placing it on his face. He leans into it, and Kuroo watches him in awe, licking his bottom lip quickly. Despite the warm feeling in his chest, Kenma can’t help but wonder who Kuroo is seeing right now.

“Say my name.”

Kuroo’s throat constricts. “Kenma.” His voice is thick, heavy with an emotion Kenma’s too anxious to guess at. Still, his heart beats faster at the sound of his name on Kuroo’s tongue. _His_ name. Not Kenta’s.

Kuroo isn’t Kenta’s any longer.

 

 

***

 

Bokuto and Akaashi help Kuroo move into Kenma’s house. Akaashi doesn’t seem very happy about it. Though he doesn’t say anything, the cold shoulder he gives Kuroo throughout the day makes it pretty obvious he doesn’t approve of this change.

The whisper doesn’t approve either.

_[you don’t need to do this. he’s just using you to feel safe.]_

_I don’t mind that. I want him to feel safe._

_[he doesn’t care about you. he just wants your power. you’ll see.]_

What the whisper doesn’t seem to realize is that Kuroo’s perfectly fine with lending Kenma his power if that’s what it takes to have him close. Over the past month, Kuroo’s affection for Kenma has only grown. At first he’s not sure if it’s just because he’s company when Kuroo feels lonesome, but then he finds himself wondering how he can make Kenma happy. When he sees a red ribbon in a store, he almost buys it just because Kenma said red was his favorite color. He finds himself looking up ways to make apple pie, just to see Kenma smile.

He has yet to see him truly smile.

And there must be interest in Kuroo other than a way to use his abilities. Otherwise, Kenma wouldn’t ask him questions about his life before Kenta. He wouldn’t bother finding out how Kuroo lived in the past, what his favorite thing to do was (work with his mother mixing dye or with his father grounding spices), what his happiest memory of that time is (listening to his mother’s voice as she sang him to sleep). Why would Kenma ask him such things if he wasn’t interested in Kuroo as a person?

The whisper is wrong. Kenma cares about him. And he likes being around him. He has to.

Bokuto doesn’t stop talking the entire time they move Kuroo’s clothes and books into Kenma’s room, placing them in the back of the closet where his parents won’t see them (though Kenma admits they don’t seem to notice him anyway. He predicts they won't even realize he’s gotten a cat until the third week of Kuroo living there). He talks about how fun it’ll be to have game nights now at Kenma’s, he rambles about his classes, saying Kenma should study with him since they attend some of the same ones.

“We can all study together!” he exclaims, to which Kenma sighs, and Kuroo snickers.

“You never seemed to get much studying done when you came over to my place,” Kuroo points out. “I doubt that’ll change just because of the new venue.”

Bokuto sticks his tongue out at him. “We never study because we’re too busy making out. That won’t happen here. Kozume-kun won’t let us. Right, Kozume-kun?”

Kenma purses his lips, shaking his head. “No making out.”

“And here I thought you _liked_ making out with me,” Kuroo says with a despairing sigh. Though he has to admit that Bokuto hasn’t been over as often lately; not since he and Akaashi found out they can touch each other. Now whenever Bokuto visits, he just wants to talk about Akaashi and how soft his skin is, and how he can’t seem to keep his hands off him. He’s happy, and Kuroo’s glad that he is, but he can’t help but feel annoyed now that Akaashi’s getting all the kisses, and he’s left with nothing.

_[maybe the boy will let you kiss him. as a thank you for protecting him]_

The whisper leers in his mind, and Kuroo feels something twist in his stomach, making him feel sick.

_Shut up. I’m not going to use him like that._

_[he’s using you. what’s the difference?]_

Kuroo looks over at Kenma, sitting cross-legged on the bed while he watches Bokuto reenact a mishap that happened in his potion making class that day, complete with voices and hand gestures. He’s smiling faintly, looking amused. Kuroo’s chest clenches at the sight, and he turns away to place the box in his arms on top of the others in the closet.

_The difference is that Kenma deserves better. I’m not going to treat him like he doesn’t matter to me when he does._

The whisper is quiet for a moment before it speaks again.

_[you are a fool. you’re only going to bring yourself heartbreak. don’t say i didn’t warn you.]_

Kuroo shakes his head to clear it. History’s not going to repeat itself. He’s not going to make the same mistakes again. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect Kenma, and he’s not going to expect anything in return. He doesn’t deserve it anyway.

“Kuroo-san.” Akaashi’s voice is close by his ear, and Kuroo grows still. Behind him, he can hear Bokuto continuing his story. Akaashi’s stepped into the closet and now stands directly behind him. He places one gloved hand on Kuroo’s shoulder, but it’s not a comforting gesture.

“If you harm Kenma-kun in any way, I _will_ use my curse on you to its fullest extent. Do I make myself clear?”

Kuroo swallows hard, nodding. “Crystal.”

He doesn’t relax until he feels Akaashi’s presence disappear, and then his shoulders slump. He runs a hand through his hair, chewing on the side of his lip.

He really can’t fuck up again.

 

 

Despite his affection for Bokuto, he’s relieved when he and Akaashi leave and the house settles into quiet once more. Unfortunately, it’s not long before the awkwardness sets in. He’s not sure why, seeing as he’s been alone in the house with Kenma before. Yet somehow it feels different.

Kenma pulls a futon out of the downstairs closet. “You can sleep on this,” he says. “We’ll keep it in the closet until you need it.”

Kuroo nods, taking it from Kenma to carry it upstairs. His heart is pounding weirdly out of rhythm in his chest, and he realizes that he’s going to be sleeping in the same room as Kenma. He can’t help but wonder what he looks like when he sleeps, and then he mentally smacks himself for it.

He really needs to get a hold of himself.

“Kuroo.” Kenma sits on the edge of his bed, wiggling his toes against the floor. “How do you use magic without speaking?”

Kuroo blinks, not having expected such a question. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Kenma frowns faintly. “You used your magic without an incantation on that demon. He covered my mouth so I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t like that. I couldn’t fight back. I was defenseless. I want to know how you did it. Is it a demon thing?”

Kuroo hesitates. “I don’t think so?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I know having a demon’s power helps, but I think Kenta figured out how to use silent magic by the end of our time together.” For some reason saying that doesn’t sting as badly as it used to. He wonders if he’s starting to get used to the fact that Kenta is gone.

He’s not sure he likes that.

Kenma tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “Could you teach me?”

Kuroo laughs, but it dies quickly when he realizes Kenma’s serious. “Me teach you? About magic?”

Kenma blinks at him.

“Everything I know I learned from the demon,” Kuroo admits. “And from Kenta, but he knew a lot more than I did. Why don’t you just use your memories to find out?” He taps his temple.

Kenma’s frown deepens. “It’s not like I can talk to him directly. And if he never showed you how then I won’t have the memory of it.”

Now it’s Kuroo’s turn to blink blankly. “What do you mean?”

Kenma turns his face away. “I can only access memories with you in them.”

Kuroo’s heart flutters at this admission, though he knows that it probably has nothing to do with any sort of feelings Kenma may have for him. “Oh. Sorry?”

Kenma doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns to crawl up his bed, grabbing his PSP from the side table. Lying on his stomach, he turns it on. Kuroo bites his lip, not sure what to do. He shifts on his feet, watching Kenma play the game, trying not to stare at the way his back curves inward before the slope of his ass rises.

 _Cute butt,_ his mind supplies helpfully.

Shaking the thought from his head, he takes a step closer to the bed. “I could . . . _try_ to teach you. I’m just not sure I’ll be very good at it.”

“Okay.” Kenma doesn’t look up from his game.

Kuroo scratches the side of his face. “So, uh, did you want to now or—”

“After this level.”

Kuroo huffs. “Right, okay.” Unsure of what to do, he stands there a minute longer before turning to enter the closet, digging into one of the boxes to pull out a book. He moves to sit on the floor then, his back against the bed, and opens it.

The silence is more comforting than Kuroo expects. It’s different than the silence of his empty apartment, more companionable. Just the knowledge of Kenma lying on the mattress above him makes him feel warm and content. Soft sounds from the game break the quiet intermittently, but he’s not annoyed by it. He immerses himself in his book, and he’s surprised that an hour passes before Kenma nudges his shoulder with his foot.

“Ready now?” Kuroo asks with a grin, folding the corner of the page he’s on before shutting the book and standing. He stretches his arms over his head, before setting the book down on the bedside table. When he turns to look at Kenma, he finds the boy looking up at him expectantly.

“Okay, uh, I think all you really need to do is visualize the spell you want, like really focus on it in your mind, and then you just . . . think the incantation and will it to happen. You gotta have confidence that it’ll work. If you doubt yourself, the magic will just . . . fizzle.” Kuroo waves his hand absently.

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “That’s it?”

Kuroo nods. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. You have to clear your mind of other distractions, and in the middle of a battle that’s difficult to do.”

Kenma studies him a moment, before nodding, apparently accepting that. He closes his eyes then, lifting one hand, palm facing upward. Kuroo watches, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. Nothing happens. Kenma’s brow furrows, his lips pursing. Kuroo has to stifle a grin at how adorable he looks.

Finally, Kenma sighs and lowers his hand. “It’s not working.” He opens his eyes to look accusingly at Kuroo.

“Hey, now, don’t give up. Just because it’s difficult, that doesn’t mean it’s not worth overcoming.” He moves to sit next to Kenma, holding out his hand. “Here, give me your hand. I’ll help you.”

Kenma looks at him skeptically. “How?”

“I’ll lend you some my magic. Give yours a boost.”

Kenma shakes his head. “I want to be able to do it myself.”

Kuroo resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You will, but you gotta start somewhere, right? Come on.” He shakes his hand, until Kenma sighs and moves to take it. “Okay now lift your other hand and try again.”

Kenma complies, still frowning, but he closes his eyes and exhales slowly. Kuroo gives the hand he’s holding a gentle squeeze, before using the contact as a conduit, pushing the heat of his magic through his hand and into Kenma’s. The boy twitches, but then his face smooths out and a tiny flame of fire appears in the center of his outstretched palm, hovering above his skin.

Kuroo squeezes his hand again. “Look,” he breathes. “You’re doing it.”

Kenma slowly opens his eyes, focusing his gaze on the flickering flame in his hand. Slowly, a faint smile tugs at his lips, growing into an actual smile when the flame grows bigger, about the size of a strawberry. The expression lights up his face, and Kuroo’s stomach drops suddenly.

He clears his throat, shifting on the bed. “Okay, I’m going to pull my hand away. You see if you can keep that flame going without my magic helping you.”

Kenma nods, and carefully Kuroo releases his hand. The flame wavers, shrinking to the size of a walnut, but Kenma pinches his features in concentration, and slowly the flame grows. When it reaches the size of an apple, Kenma stops, turning his hand and pushing ball of fire outward. It moves slowly through the air, bobbing over to the center of the room. Kenma’s eyes follow it, and Kuroo watches him, struck by how much he looks like Kenta just then, with the reflection of the flame in his wide amber eyes, bright with the rush of magic he feels.

For a moment Kuroo can almost picture himself as he was back then, seated beside Kenta, marveling at his abilities, raining praises on him until his face turned red and he covered Kuroo’s mouth with his hands in an effort to get him to stop, all while Kuroo laughed. His eyes sting at the memory, the ache in his chest sharpening. Kenma turns to look at him expectantly, waiting for something.

Kuroo swallows hard and nods. “Good job,” he says, forcing a smile.

The fire dies, shrinking until it disappears completely. “You’re upset,” Kenma states.

Kuroo blinks, dropping the smile. “What?”

“I know that look. You’re sad. Were you thinking about Kenta?”

Kuroo grimaces. “Sorry. I just . . . you looked so much like him just now. I know you probably don’t want to hear that; it wasn’t on purpose.”

Kenma looks down at his hands. “It’s okay for you to think about him.”

“It is?” Kuroo asks blankly. “But you get angry—”

“I get angry when you compare me to him. But you don’t have to stop thinking of him in general.” He tilts his head, hair hanging in front of his face. “I just don’t want you to only see him when you look at me.”

“I don’t,” Kuroo admits, shaking his head. “Some of the things you do remind me of him, that’s all. But I don’t think of you as him. I know you’re not him. I don’t want you to be him.”

“So you’ve said.” Kenma stands, turning to leave the room.

Without thinking, Kuroo reaches out to take his wrist, stopping him. Kenma looks down at his hand but doesn’t immediately pull away.

“I like you, Kenma,” he says past the lump in his throat. “ _You_. I want to protect you. I want to make you happy. Not because you look like Kenta, but because I care about you. I care about Kenma.”

Kenma studies him for a long moment, and Kuroo does his best to match his gaze.

“You’re telling the truth,” he says then, inhaling sharply.

Very carefully, Kuroo tugs on Kenma’s wrist, until the boy steps closer to him. Reaching up with his free hand, he brushes his hair behind his ear, running his fingers through the silky strands. Kenma lets him, standing still in front of him, watching him.

“If I become strong enough to protect myself, to fight on my own, will you stay?”

Kuroo nods. “Yes.”

“Because you care about me?”

Kuroo’s chest feels tight. “Yes.”

“Does being with me make you happy?”

Kuroo hesitates. “I’m . . . less sad when I’m around you. I don’t feel lonely. I think I can be happy, eventually, but it’ll take some time. Is that okay?”

Kenma purses his lips in thought, then nods.

Kuroo feels a wave of relief. He pulls Kenma to him, releasing his wrist to wrap his arms around him, holding him close. Kenma doesn’t hesitate but immediately brings his arms up to return the hug. Kuroo feels a warmth in his chest, and as he buries his nose into the soft skin of Kenma’s neck, breathing in his scent, he actually believes his own words.

He’s pretty sure that in time, with this, he can be happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	12. this is the start of how it all ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! But my friend sent me her laptop, so I'll try to get updates up faster!
> 
> We're coming up on the finale of the first act . . .
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

all the world's a stage,  
and all the men and women merely players;

\--william shakespeare, _as you like it_

* * *

 

 

Hanamaki hates his scar. It doesn't matter that Issei thinks it makes him look "rugged," and it doesn't serve as some sort of badge of honor. It's a constant reminder of the day he almost lost Issei. He still has nightmares about it; he sees the claws of the imp sink into Issei's side, hears his scream of pain, feels that same helplessness seep into his chest. It's because of his stupid scar that Issei has one of his own.

He thinks he'll grow out his hair to cover it. In the meantime, he's grateful the days are growing colder, so he can wear a beanie and keep it pulled low over his eyes.

"Is that so you can pretend you have eyebrows?" one of his coworkers at the grocery store asks with a grin.

"Hardy har har," Hanamaki replies intelligently. He continues to rearrange the fruit in front of him aimlessly. He doesn't dislike his part-time job, but it's not very exciting either. Restocking shelves and bins for eighteen hours a week doesn't feel like the best use of his time, not when he should be working out or training. He still hasn't been able to beat Iwaizumi in a duel, and that's unacceptable to him. He has to get stronger.

"Ah, Hanamaki-kun, there you are."

Hanamaki glances up to see his manager approaching. He bites back his snarky reply to that, wondering where else he would be.

"Kohinata called in sick," his manager says, adjusting his glasses. "I need you to make his deliveries tonight. I'll give you a pass for the curfew."

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow. Now this could be more interesting. "Roger that," he says, saluting.

His manager narrows his eyes, never quite sure when Hanamaki is being sarcastic or not, but in the end he nods and turns to leave.

>> _guess who just got promoted to delivery boy?_ (17:24)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_well it can't be you, considering your sense of direction is terrible_ (17:24)

>> _excuse you, my sense of direction is perfect_ (17:24)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_the wedding boutique?_ (17:25)

>> _i thought you said wedding!_ (17:25)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_i said pudding_ (17:25)

>> _you really shouldn't mumble and get a guy's hopes up_ (17:25)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_the lingerie store?_ (17:26)

>> _maybe i wanted to get a nice garter set you don't know everything about my life_ (17:26)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_i've never seen you wear garters_ (17:26)

>> _wanna change that? ;)_ (17:26)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_just be careful okay?_ (17:27)

>> _you can come join me if you want. we can accidentally wind up at a pet store and liberate all the puppies (and by liberate i mean take them home to keep forever)_ (17:27)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_as tempting as that sounds, i can't. mom won't let me out past curfew no matter what. she'll blow a gasket if i leave_ (17:28)

>> _such a momma's boy_ (17:28)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_you cried for your mom every day at school for like a year_ (17:28)

>> _i was eight!_ (17:29)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_i'm pretty sure you were twelve_ (17:29)

>> _whatever dude you're still a wuss_ (17:30)

 **Hot Stuff**  
_i love you too_ (17:30)

 

It's surprisingly lonely out on the streets at night. With everyone adhering to the curfew, he only passes other delivery boys and every now and then members of the DHS on patrol. To counteract the silence, he listens to his iPod, and the pounding of the bass in his ears makes the time pass more quickly.

He's on his third to last delivery when he spots a familiar figure walking down the street toward the woods. Frowning, he pedals faster until he pulls his bike and cart up beside the young man.

"Oikawa? What the hell are you doing out here? It's past curfew, you know." Pulling his headphones off, he studies his friend, who appears startled.

"Makki-chan!" Oikawa's eyes flicker to the cart and bike before returning to Hanamaki's face. "Congrats on the promotion."

Hanamaki narrows his eyes. He's not sure how he feels about Oikawa these days. He'd die for the guy, but he's starting to realize that he doesn't really know Oikawa as well as he thought he did. His friend continues to keep things from him and Issei, and he wouldn't be surprised to learn that he's keeping things from Iwaizumi too. The man is an enigma, and Hanamaki's not sure he'll ever be able to figure him out.

It's not so much about seeing Oikawa's demon form (though he is intensely curious about it); it's the fact that Oikawa's not comfortable letting him and Issei in that close that annoys him. The underlying taint of distrust behind the reassuring smiles and shoulder pats.

"Thanks, I had to kill the other guy. What are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep. I decided to go to the fort to stargaze," Oikawa says with a shrug. "Is that a crime?"

"It is when there's a curfew, and you don't have permission to be out after dark," Hanamaki says. "You couldn't have stargazed on your roof? We've been up there before. I know it's doable."

"Maybe I wanted to be away from home for a while." Oikawa frowns. "What's with the interrogation?"

"I don't know, maybe I don't trust you anymore. Maybe I'm worried that you're up to something harmful." Hanamaki reaches for his phone. "I'm calling Iwaizumi."

Oikawa's hand latches onto his wrist faster than he can react. "Don't."

Hanamaki pulls his hand away, annoyed. "What the hell is your problem? You don't trust me and Matsun, and now what? You don't trust Iwaizumi either? Are you planning on figuring out all this yourself?"

Oikawa's face is pale in the orange light from the streetlamps. His eyes are wide, dark with an emotion Hanamaki can't quite place. His silence only irritates him further.

"I know about the prophecy. I know you're supposed to open the Hell Mouth or whatever. That's where you're going, isn't it? The clearing's the Hell Mouth, and that's why those words appeared. You're the king it's waiting for."

"I don't want to be," Oikawa says in a small voice.

"Yeah, well, and I didn't want to end up with nonexistent eyebrows but we don't get to choose how we're born, do we? Just let us fucking help you for once. Shit, Oikawa. We can figure out a way to change fate or destiny or whatever the fuck shit this thing is, but we can't do that if you don't trust us."

Oikawa's expression has grown hard, the angles of his face sharpening. "It's not about trust," he says, his voice low.

"Like hell it's not." Hanamaki frowns. There's a glint in Oikawa's eyes that makes him feel uneasy. He reaches for his phone again, but his hand freezes before he can get it into his pocket. "What the fuck?" He tries to move his hand back, but he can't. When he looks up, Oikawa's left eye is glowing red. "What did you do to me?" he growls.

"You're not going to call anyone. You're going to go home now," Oikawa says softly.

Hanamaki stares into that crimson eye and a chill runs down his spine. The scar on his forehead throbs with the rhythm of his quickening heartbeat, and he stiffens.

"You're going to go home now," Oikawa says again, taking a slow step forward, and his eyes seem to widen further.

Hanamaki can only see red. It's enveloping him, consuming him. He can't move or speak, and Oikawa's words force their way into his mind, repeating like a mantra, overpowering any other thought.

He shuts his eyes, breaking the spell. He gulps air into his tightening chest until his lungs loosen. When he opens his eyes, however, he finds himself no longer in the middle of the street, but standing in his room beside his bed.

"What the hell?" He looks around, recognizing his bedside table, the lamp that's placed upon it. His desk is there, and his laptop, everything the same as it was that morning when he left for school.

He has no idea how he got back here.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. He's lost over an hour. There are five missed calls from his boss. Crossing over to the window, he looks down at the bike and delivery cart that stand in his front lawn. The last three deliveries are still in the cart. He grimaces, but bypasses the voicemails, finding Issei's contact instead.

"Did you get lost?" Issei asks, a thinly veiled laugh in his voice.

"No, dude, the weirdest shit just happened. I was doing my deliveries and all of a sudden I was in my room. I don't know how I got here. There's still bags in my cart."

Issei's quiet a moment before answering. "Do you remember encountering any demons?"

Hanamaki thinks back. He remembers listening to his music, pedaling along and wishing Issei was there with him, and now he's in his room. When he tries to think of what happened between those two events it's like trying to draw a speck of dirt out of a bowl of water. It slips away before he can get a grasp on it.

"No?"

"Are you okay?"

"Other than missing a chunk of my memory, I'm fine." Hanamaki runs his hand through his hair. He's not wearing his hat. He glances around and sees it on the floor. He picks it up, confusion causing his heart to race in his chest.

"Do you want me to stay on the phone?"

"Yeah," Hanamaki says, exhaling shakily. "Yeah, that'd be nice, thanks."

He doesn't like the twist of dread he feels in his stomach. It's almost more unnerving than the elusive memories. He has no idea what happened, but he knows that whatever it was isn't good.

 

 

***

 

Lev has grown increasingly frustrating. At first Yaku was annoyed by the amount of time Lev spent with Kuroo, hating the fact that yet another person had captured Lev's interest. But as Kenma and Kuroo spent more time together, with Kuroo teaching Kenma how to perform wordless magic, Lev's attention became focused on Yaku. Unfortunately, it was mainly as an outlet to complain about the lack of Kenma.

"He was our friend first," he pouts over his cauldron. Yaku's cleared a work space for them in his kitchen for Lev to work on his potions. He has an exam coming up, and he's been spending so much time learning how to fight with Kuroo that he's been neglecting his studies (another cause for Yaku's irritation).

"He's still our friend," he says, keeping an eye on the amount of rosemary Lev's adding to the brew bubbling in front of him.

"Yeah, but we never see him anymore." Lev sets down the rosemary and picks up a vial of enchanted tears, adding two drops into the cauldron.

"We see him at school. We saw him last night." The spot above Yaku's right eye is throbbing. He shoves the textbook closer to Lev. "Read the incantation and finish the potion. You need to ace this exam if you're going to pass the class."

Lev frowns, but he looks down at the book, lips moving silently for a moment as he reads over the spell. Turning to the cauldron, he holds his hand over it. His palm begins to glow, as he speaks the words, and his magic spirals gold strands of light into the potion. Yaku frowns.

"Wait, did you just say ' _conprimo_ ' or ' _imprimo_ '?"

Lev bites his lip. "Um . . . _imprimo_?"

Yaku grimaces. "Shit." He moves forward, pushing Lev away from the cauldron. The contents are glowing red, bubbling up to the rim. "Get down!" he snaps, clapping his hands together and starting to speak a shielding spell. Before he can finish it, Lev suddenly appears in front of him, grabbing him with a shout.

"Yaku-san!"

The potion explodes. Yaku can feel Lev's flinch, as the liquid sprays across his back and the table and floor. His heart is racing, and Yaku can hear it keenly with his face pressed against the teenager's chest. His cheeks feel warm, and his own heart rate is starting to pick up speed, so he wiggles out from Lev's embrace, scowling.

"Idiot! I was about to place a shield around it so it _wouldn't_ explode over everything!"

"But Yaku-san, you didn't have _time_ to place the shield." Lev shakes his head. "So I saved you!" He grins faintly, but Yaku catches the flinch of pain that crosses his expression.

Quickly, he grabs Lev's arm and turns him around. The red liquid sizzles against Lev's back, burning through the material of his shirt. With a yelp, Yaku grabs the edge of the shirt, yanking it upward. Lev bends forward, allowing Yaku to remove the shirt, and he tosses it onto the ground. Already the skin of Lev's back and shoulders is an angry red, blisters appearing.

"Shit," Yaku mutters. He glances toward the table and floor. The floor seems fine, but the wood of the table is smoking, and the textbook is nearly gone, disintegrating into the liquid. He lifts his palm, speaking a freezing spell. Frost creeps along his finger tips, as ice like mist covers the liquid, settling it, stopping the acid from spreading.

Lev is whimpering now, poking at the back of his shoulder and the blisters there. Yaku turns and smacks his hand away. "Come on," he says, his heart still beating much too fast. He takes Lev's wrist, pulling him from the kitchen to the bathroom. He directs Lev to sit on the edge of the tub, while he rummages in the mirror cabinet for a jar. He finds it, drawing it out and checking the label. In his mother's handwriting is the kanji for "healing cream."

He opens it and takes a whiff. It smells fresh, like dew on leaves. Nodding, he turns back to Lev, dipping his fingers into the cream and drawing some out to gently smear across the burns on Lev's skin. Lev inhales sharply, stiffening.

"Relax, it'll feel better in a moment," Yaku instructs.

Slowly, Lev does relax. His head is bowed, and he's unnaturally silent, as Yaku continues to spread the cream across his shoulders and upper back. The burns aren't extensive, but they're spread out across the length of his back. Yaku hopes he has enough cream.

"You're mad." Lev's voice is small. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He curls them into fists and then flexes them, smoothing them over the material of his jeans.

"You need to stop putting yourself in danger for my sake," Yaku says with a sigh. He's not mad. Irritated perhaps, but not mad. He keeps his eyes on his fingers, as he gently rubs the green tinted cream deeper into Lev's burns. Already they're starting to look better, fading to a light pink instead of the fiery red it was before.

"But I want to protect you."

"I don't need protection. I'm more advanced at magic than you."

"But you're so small . . ."

Yaku pauses with a frown, tilting his head to look at Lev's face. He has the decency to look sheepish at least, turning his face away.

"You're getting a pass because you're injured," Yaku says flatly, resuming his ministrations. "Height has nothing to do with ability; not with magic. You should know that."

"I _do_ know that," Lev says petulantly. "But when I look at you, I get this squeezy feeling in my chest that tells me I should take care of you. I don't want anything bad to happen to you . . ."

Yaku's heart is attempting to strangle him. He inhales shakily, feeling like he's going to go cross-eyed for how focused he is on his fingers massaging Lev's skin in slow circles.

"Let me take care of myself, Lev," he says softly, shaking his head. "I appreciate the sentiment, but it's kind of insulting to have your kouhai taking care of you."

Lev inhales sharply. Yaku pauses.

"What?"

Lev's cheeks pinken, and he looks over his shoulder at Yaku with a tiny smile. "Just . . . the way you said my name just now. It was really nice."

Yaku's stomach flips over uneasily. He bites his lip, noticing that the spot he's been rubbing on Lev's back is now completely healed. He moves on to the next spot, ignoring the way his face feels hot.

"Yaku-san?"

Yaku purses his lips, frowning faintly at the blisters he's carefully covering. Lev reaches up to take his wrist, stilling his hand.

"Yaku-san."

Yaku drags his gaze up to meet Lev's, not sure why he's feeling something akin to panic. Lev grins, moving his hand down to take Yaku's, despite the cream still glossing his fingers. He gives it a squeeze, and Yaku's stomach hollows out.

"Thank you for always taking such good care of me, Yaku-san," Lev says seriously. "You do a lot for me and Kenma-san. It's really great. But you need someone to take care of you too. So you don't get too stressed! You always seem so stressed, Yaku-san."

Yaku swallows hard. "I'm not . . . stressed. I just worry about you two."

"But who worries about you?"

Yaku shrugs. "I don't need anyone worrying for me." He looks down at Lev's back, glad to see that most of the blisters are gone now.

"I do."

Yaku's gaze snaps back up quickly. His eyes widen. "You do?"

Lev nods, and the seriousness of his expression makes Yaku nervous. "I worry that you're worrying too much. I worry that you're not happy. I worry that I annoy you and you don't like me! My sister says I'm being paranoid about that, but you're always yelling at me so I don't know . . ." He glances down at his healing shoulder. "But then you do things like this for me, and I think maybe you do like me. Or at least care about me."

Yaku finds himself nodding stupidly. "I do care about you."

Lev's eyes light up, shining so brightly that Yaku's face burns. He coughs lightly, looking down at the hand Lev still holds.

"I just get frustrated because you keep making the same mistakes, and I want you to be able to graduate, to reach your goals in life . . . I get angry when you do things like this because I don't like to see you hurt either . . ." He's not sure what he's saying; he feels lightheaded. He had no idea Lev thought so much about him and his opinion.

"Yaku-san," Lev says, and it looks like he's fighting a grin as he swivels to face Yaku more fully. "Will you keep taking care of me?"

Yaku blinks at him. "Yes?" he says slowly, not sure what's happening.

Lev leans forward, his face suddenly very close. Yaku takes a step back, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he sputters.

Lev pauses, tilting his head. "I was going to kiss you."

Yaku's knees feel weak. "What?"

"You accepted my feelings."

"No, I didn't!"

"But you said you'd keep taking care of me."

"I didn't--that wasn't--"

Lev's shoulders slump. "Oh. You meant like as friends?"

He looks so dejected, his lips pulling into a sad frown. Yaku feels guilt crawl into his stomach, and he takes a small step closer. Lev watches him skeptically, and Yaku reaches up to touch the feathery wisps of Lev's hair that's fallen over his forehead. He brushes them away lightly, swallowing hard.

"I thought you had feelings for Kenma-kun," Yaku admits quietly. "I don't want you to kiss me if that's true."

"I can stop having feelings for him," Lev offers. "I'll just have feelings for you from now on." He nods.

Yaku can't help but laugh at his naivety. "It doesn't work like that, Lev."

"I'll make it work," Lev says with such confidence that Yaku's laugh dies in his throat.

"You . . . really want to be with me? Even though I'm uninteresting, and I worry too much?" It doesn't seem possible, and yet here's Lev nodding with a smile so much like sunshine it causes Yaku's chest to ache.

"I really do! You're cute and nice, when you're not hitting me, and I want to help you not worry so much! I can be a good boyfriend." Lev leans forward, bumping his forehead gently against Yaku's. "And I don't think you're uninteresting. You're really smart. You teach me new things every day! I really like that."

Yaku doesn't know what to say to that, so he simply leans forward to kiss Lev gently. Lev responds as Lev responds to everything: with enthusiasm. His teeth clack against Yaku's as he presses too hard too quickly, and Yaku swerves away with a slight grimace.

"You're a terrible kisser."

"We should kiss more then! For practice!" Lev exclaims, unperturbed.

Yaku finds himself laughing again. "Right, of course," he says with a grin, before leaning in to kiss him once more.

He's not sure he's ever felt this light before. It's a nice feeling, and Yaku hopes he can hold onto it for a long time.

 

 

***

 

Kunimi knows there's something wrong with him. He can sense it in the way that he's simply stopped caring about things. Things that used to bother him he doesn't think twice about. Things he used to like he now finds himself disinterested in. He feels like he's moving underwater, everything muted and hazy around him.

Is this what it's like to no longer have a soul?

The only thing keeping him from possibly giving up on this miserable existence altogether is Kindaichi. His best friend is alive because of him, because he gave up his soul, and he's not about to let that sacrifice go to waste. He's been spending as much time as he can with him, taking him to the shooting range, tutoring him despite his lack of interest in Kindaichi's classes, and spending the night at his place when he stays too long and curfew goes into effect.

Kindaichi seems pleased by the attention but also confused.

"I don't understand why I can't tutor with Iwaizumi-san anymore," he admitted one day after school.

"He's not the one who brought you back to life. I am," Kunimi stated flatly.

Kindaichi flinched at the ice in his tone. "I know . . ."

Kunimi knew he should feel guilty for snapping, but he felt nothing. Just a deep, black hole in his chest. A hole that's impossible to fill.

"Kunimi-kun, are you okay?" Kindaichi peers at him from his side of the couch. A movie is playing, one Kunimi picked at random because he found no enjoyment in them anymore.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kunimi answers absently, staring at the screen but not focusing on anything.

"You just . . . you've seemed really different ever since the attack. If you tell me what you did, maybe I can help--"

"No." Kindaichi can't know what he did. He'd ruin himself with guilt. This is Kunimi's burden to bear.

Kindaichi frowns faintly. "I thought we were friends."

Kunimi blinks at him. "We are?"

"Well . . . friends tell each other stuff, don't they? They rely on each other." Kindaichi reaches over to touch Kunimi's arm gently. Kunimi stares at it, feeling the warmth of the contact but nothing else. It's strange. Kindaichi's touch used to set his veins on fire. And now there's not a single change in his blood pressure.

He turns his hand, moving to grasp Kindaichi's in his. He gives it a squeeze, willing his body to feel something, willing his chest to ache, his heart to stutter.

Nothing.

Kindaichi, however, has turned red, and he's staring wide-eyed at the hands joined on the couch between them. "K-Kunimi-kun?"

Kunimi moves closer, biting his lip, frowning in concentration. He pulls his legs up underneath him, before lifting one and swinging it over Kindaichi's lap, settling back on his knees. Kindaichi squeaks, his free hand moving to grip Kunimi's shirt, holding him back.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he asks.

Kunimi tilts his head, studying the flush that's slowly spreading across Kindaich's neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He can't remember what that rush feels like. He leans forward, planting his free hand on the back of the couch beside Kindaichi's head.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks softly, looking into Kindaichi's startled eyes. He feels nothing but the curiosity to test how his body would respond to this contact, but he knows he has to be considerate otherwise Kindaichi will run away.

And he can't let that happen.

Kindaichi's throat bobs, as he swallows down his panic. He shakes his head then, reaching up with his hand to gently brush Kunimi's hair back behind his ear. His fingers linger on Kunimi's cheek, and the shock in his eyes warms to something tender.

Kunimi stares at them, his breathing steady, his heartbeat the same as before.

This isn't right. This isn't how this is supposed to go.

Kindaichi leans forward, closing the gap between them to kiss him. His lips are hesitant, nervous. Kunimi presses back, but it doesn't help. He might as well be kissing a wall for how much his body responds. Kindaichi's hand moves down to hold the side of his neck, his fingers trembling. Kunimi can feel the way he's relaxing into him, the way his lips part in want, and he can't do it.

He pulls away.

"K-Kunimi-kun?"

Ignoring Kindaichi's perplexity, Kunimi gets off his lap, standing. He shakes his head.

"I shouldn't have done that. Sorry." He looks away toward the door, knowing he should leave. This isn't going to get any better.

Kindaichi's confusion melts away to hurt. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes." It's for the best.

"You can't just kiss me and then leave!"

Kunimi smirks faintly. "Technically, you kissed me."

Kindaichi frowns, not amused. He stands. "Talk to me."

"No."

"I can't help if you don't talk!" Kindaichi waves his arms helplessly to the side.

Kunimi sighs. "You can't help with this."

"It's not going to go away if you keep it inside. _Please_ Kunimi-kun!" Kindaichi's looking at him with such fear, like he's about to lose something. But you can't lose what you never had, so Kunimi doesn't understand his desperation.

He studies his friend, the worry lines creasing his forehead, his stupidly spiked hair, his large hands, palms calloused from years of training. Kunimi remembers the way his heart fluttered that night he took that hand in his, back when it was smaller and still smooth. When he pressed his lips against Kindaichi's ear, whispering his name with all the importance it held. He remembers the way Kindaichi looked at him, brown eyes blown wide, staring at Kunimi as though he'd just been given the most valuable gemstone in the world.

He remembers all this and feels nothing.

"Call me by my name." As if that will help. As if that will break the spell.

Kindaichi's mouth opens and closes, as he gapes. Finally he swallows, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet yet full of urgency. " _Please_ , Akira."

It doesn't help.

But Kunimi didn't truly expect it to.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Kindaichi doesn't try to stop him. Kunimi doesn't blame him, and he doesn't wait for the hurt that will never come. He puts on his shoes and leaves, taking his book bag with him. He can't even remember why he'd come to Kindaichi's house in the first place.

He's at home in bed when he hears the whisper.

_[convince oikawa tooru to open the mouth]_

He sits up slowly, squinting into the dark of his room. He doesn't hear the voice again, and he wonders if he perhaps imagined it, if his mind is leaving him as well. But as he lies back down to try and return to sleep, the whisper speaks again.

_[we have a contract. you must convince him or our agreement is void.]_

Kunimi feels something then. Fear. It coils deep within him, dark and insidious. To break the contract would mean Kindaichi's life is forfeit. He would have sacrificed his soul for nothing. They both would be dead, and while he can live with his own existence being wiped clean from this world, he can't bring himself to wish that upon Kindaichi.

He doesn't deserve that.

"I won't know what to say."

_[i'll give you the words]_

So the next day after school he finds Oikawa. It's difficult not to be intimidated by the young man. Kunimi's seen him around, but he's never initiated a conversation. His senpai is one of the best fighters in Aoba Johsai. To get on his bad side is inadvisable, and Kunimi's never been exactly likable.

But with his contract at stake, he makes himself visible to Oikawa, as he and Iwaizumi leave the school. He stands off to the side, fixing his gaze onto his senpai until Oikawa turns and makes eye contact with him. He nods just briefly, before saying something to Iwaizumi. The other glances at Kunimi, his eyes narrowing, and Kunimi avoids his gaze. After a moment, Iwaizumi continues off, and Oikawa approaches him.

"You did something naughty, didn't you, Kunimi-kun?" Oikawa says with a grin, his voice lilting.

Kunimi doesn't reply to that. "You need to open your present."

Oikawa's smile freezes. His eyes narrow, his gaze sharpening. Kunimi feels it pierce through him, and suddenly he feels exposed, like Oikawa can see straight through him, can see the emptiness where his soul used to be.

"Did my father send you, demon?" he asks flatly.

Kunimi blinks. "I'm not a demon," he says, shaking his head. "But I am bringing a message from one."

"Who's probably a messenger for my father." Oikawa rolls his eyes. "I don't want it. You can tell your demon to tell my father he can stick his present up his ass for all I care."

Kunimi pictures the black smoke he encountered as a tiny demon cowering before a massive one, delivering such a message and getting squashed beneath the king's foot. He smirks faintly, before remembering he has to convince Oikawa, not just speak the words. He has to follow through, unless he wants Kindaichi torn from him forever.

"My demon tells me that the king is weak. He's dying, so he's looking to you to become his successor. You can take his throne; bend his power to your will. With it, you can command all the armies of Hell. You could protect Japan if you wanted." Kunimi tilts his head, studying Oikawa a moment longer before adding an observation of his own, "You could protect Iwaizumi-san."

Oikawa's grown still; his sharp gaze meets Kunimi's, and the spark between them seems to electrify the air. Kunimi can feel the magic emanating from Oikawa. He can't see the young man's aura, but if he could he thinks it'd be bright with anger.

"Don't you dare bring him into this."

"He's already in it. Don’t you think the king would use him against you if he could? It's better to take his offer now before he gets that chance." Kunimi holds his hands out to the side. "This is just a message, not a show of force. But I bet he could give you one if he felt like he needed to. You shouldn't let it get to that point."

The line of Oikawa's jaw draws tight, as he clenches his teeth. "Is that also a part of the message or simply your version of friendly advice?"

Kunimi blinks at him, not replying. He knows he's played his hand well. Now it's time for Oikawa to make his move.

"Have a good evening, Oikawa-san," Kunimi says, bowing.

Oikawa's frowning as he straightens, and he knows he can sense his insincerity.

He doesn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	13. you ever see somebody ruin their own life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /sweats nervously

 

 

i knew you were mine  
you said you were mine  
i thought you were mine

\--phillipa soo, "burn"  
by lin manuel-miranda, _hamilton_

* * *

 

 

Akaashi lies awake in his bed, listening to the soft snores of Koutarou beside him. A glance at the clock tells him it's already well past midnight, but he finds himself unable to relax enough to sleep. Shifting, he rolls to his side to look at his boyfriend, and he can't keep from smiling faintly at the way Koutarou's cheek is smooshed against the pillow, forcing his parted lips into an odd shape. His hair is flat and mussed, still damp from his shower.

He looks so peaceful, a direct contrast to the ache building deep within Akaashi's chest. Carefully, he sits up and slides out of bed, making sure the covers are tucked well over Koutarou's shoulder before grabbing a sleep robe from the closet and pulling it on. He steps into his slippers and slips out of the room, making his way downstairs.

The house is quiet, an oppressive silence that weighs heavily on Akaashi, as he steps into the library. Light from the moon illuminates the carpet in front of him, casting deep shadows into the corners of the room. He steps over to the baby grand piano that stands across from the record player, lifting the cover to softly play a short melody. The bookcase beside him shudders, and the lower half swings inward, revealing the dark stairwell descending into his grandfather's study.

His steps don't falter as he walks down into the lower room, knowing exactly where to place his feet after years of traversing up and down these stairs. When he reaches the end, he reaches to the side, flipping the light switch on the wall. He squints against the sudden brightness, but after a moment his eyes adjust, and he makes his way over to the table in the center of the room.

Moving aside the cauldron and books irrelevant to his goal, he opens an old spell book. He's read it so many times it's possible he could transcribe it without looking, but he has to have missed something. There must be another solution to his curse.

He wishes he could speak to his mother about it; ask her about the origin of the curse. But their conversations are always awkward and stilted. He asks after Kiyomi, she asks if he's eating well. Then come long silences and the sharp sting of regret and want.

The calls never last long.

He wonders if she'd even tell him if he asked. It's not something they ever spoke about even when his parents still lived with him. All he knows is that his family is cursed and the first born son of the Akaashi line experiences the Burning once they reach puberty.

His uncle committed suicide not long after his Burning.

Akaashi considered it; he'd be lying if he said he didn't. But in the end he decided on figuring out an actual solution. Perhaps he can find something that will be able to help more people as well. So he kept working, even when the loneliness threatened to crush him.

He's grateful he met Kenma as soon as he did.

"Keiji? What are you doing down here? What is this place?" Koutarou appears in the entry way, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. His pajama pants are slung low on his hips, and his chest is bare, goosebumps prickling the outside of his arms. Akaashi fights a smile, lowering his gaze to the book before him once more.

"It's my grandfather's study. Well, I suppose it's mine now."

"It's so late." Koutarou walks over to stand behind Akaashi. He wraps his arms around his waist from behind, dropping his forehead heavily onto his shoulder. Akaashi shivers at the warmth of Koutarou's chest pressing against the thin material of his robe. He's not sure he'll ever get used to that. "Come back to bed."

"I couldn't sleep, so I came down here to do more research." Akaashi lifts his hand, trailing his fingertips along Koutarou's forearm. So warm . . .

"Research on your curse?" Koutarou asks, lifting his head just enough to rest his chin against Akaashi, looking down at the book in front of them.

Akaashi shuts it slowly. "Yes. I still haven't found another solution."

"Mm, do you really need one though? I mean, you have me now. You don't have to break the curse."

Akaashi pauses, turning his head to frown faintly at him. "That's a selfish thing to say, Koutarou."

Koutarou leans back with a pout. "Well? I mean, you're happy with me, right? And there's nobody else you want to touch, so things are okay right now. You don't have to stress so much about it!"

Akaashi looks back at the book in front of him. He _is_ happy with Koutarou, but he's not the only person Akaashi desires to touch. He feels guilty for thinking that in this moment, however, and he curls his fingers against the wood of the table.

The silence grows tense, and Koutarou releases Akaashi to stand beside him, leaning his hip on the edge of the table. "Hey, hey, Keiji . . . I'm enough for you, aren't I?"

There's a sense of desperation in his tone, and Akaashi feels that guilt settle deeper. He turns to face Koutarou, lifting his hand to hold the side of his face, brushing his thumb across his cheekbone.

"Of course you are," he says quietly.

Koutarou reaches up to lay his palm over Akaashi's hand, leaning into his touch. "You're kind of hard to read," he admits. "But sometimes when we're together I can sense your sadness. It's like . . . a dark thing hovering over you. Is that weird?"

Akaashi bites his lip, wondering if he's projecting too much. He should try to rein that in more. He shakes his head. "My magic might be rubbing off on you, making you more sensitive to things like auras. But my sadness doesn't have to do with you, Koutarou. I assure you that you make me happy."

He steps forward to kiss him, pressing gently and telling his mind to relax. Koutarou doesn't need to feel his anxiety, and Akaashi isn't lying when he says that the man makes him happy. That should be enough, shouldn't it? He should be satisfied with having even a single person to touch when before he had no one.

Akaashi wonders if perhaps he's the selfish one.

Koutarou leans into the kiss with his whole being, wrapping his arm around Akaashi and turning to press him back against the table. His lips part, tongue seeking, and Akaashi opens up to him with a soft moan. His hand moves up, and he tangles his fingers through Koutarou's soft hair. It's easy to forget his cares when he's wrapped up in Koutarou, and he enjoys losing himself.

Koutarou's free hand tugs at Akaashi's robe, unraveling the knot at his waist and sliding his hand inside the folds to press against Akaashi's stomach. He strokes the bare skin above the waistband of his pajama pants, and Akaashi trembles, as heat spreads through him.

Koutarou pulls away from the kiss, sliding his lips up to his ear instead. He runs his tongue along the shell of it, and Akaashi bites his lip to stifle an embarrassing sound.

"Can I fuck you here?" Koutarou's voice is low and it rumbles through him.

Akaashi thinks of the books, the cauldron behind him. He grimaces faintly. "That would be inadvisable."

"Oh." Koutarou pulls away with a disappointed frown. He studies Akaashi a moment, bright golden eyes devouring him with a single look, and Akaashi's knees feel weak, as a slow grin begins to tilt Koutarou's lips. "Guess I'll have to do something else then."

He lowers to his knees, and Akaashi inhales sharply at the sudden tug that sends his pants to his ankles. He reaches behind him to grip the edge of the table, bowing his head and closing his eyes. No matter how many times Koutarou does this, he's always unprepared for the _feel_ of it, the wet heat and slow drag of friction.

He presses the back of his free hand against his mouth, stifling another noise. All thoughts begin to drift away, replaced by the sensations of pleasure and the pulse of Koutarou's aura.

He can save his worries for another day.

 

Unfortunately it's not long before they return at full force.

"And he's teaching me how to strength my mental blockers. Yaku-kun was working with me some on that, but Kuroo knows how from experience. He says it's because of the time he spent in Hell. He won't tell me much about it, but apparently his magic grew fairly strong because of how much he had to fight."

Akaashi stares down at the cup of tea in his hand. Kenma's voice is light, and he sounds _happy_ , happier than he's sounded for quite some time. Akaashi knows that as Kenma's friend he should be happy for him, but all he feels is concern.

Perhaps something else.

"Kenma-kun, I'm glad you're learning to strengthen your magic, but I don't think you should grow so comfortable with Kuroo-san. You know what he is."

Kenma's silent for a moment and when he replies Akaashi can hear the underlying anger in his tone, "You don't know him like I do."

"Just because you've seen him in Kenta's memories, that doesn't mean you know him. He's not the same person that Kenta knew, Kenma-kun. It's been over six hundred years, and he's lived in Hell that entire time. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised by how sane he seems, but that doesn't mean you should let your guard down around him."

"I know he's not the same person, but that doesn't mean he's a bad one either. Don't treat me like an idiot, Keiji."

"I'm not; I'm just worried about you–"

"Worried or jealous?"

Akaashi purses his lips. "I have no reason to be jealous."

"You don't like Kuroo because he and Bokuto were together, and now you're projecting your fear of abandonment onto me."

Akaashi sets his cup down before he can break it. "You're blinded by your affection. He's going to hurt you, Kenma, please listen to me."

"That's rich coming from you. As far as I can tell, _you're_ the only one who's hurting people." Kenma's voice is flat, cold, and he ends the call before Akaashi can reply.

Slowly, he lowers the phone to his lap, staring down at it. Kenma's words play back through his mind, bringing with it a sharp ache that pierces his chest. The worst part is that he knows Kenma is right. What happened between Kuroo and Bokuto _has_ tainted his view of the man further, and seeing him and Kenma growing closer doesn't help that view, despite knowing he has no claim to Kenma personally.

But there's also the issue of the darkness he sees in Kuroo's aura. Surely Kenma's seen it too, given the young man's abilities. Does it not concern him? Does it not give him pause to think about how the time in Hell might've changed him?

_It's not your business. Kenma can like who he wants. He's not a child, and Kuroo has shown no signs of wanting to hurt him._

Akaashi knows this, and yet the anxiety for his friend continues to eat at his chest. And when he thinks on Kenma's observation as well, the sting grows sharper until he leaves his tea on the coffee table and makes his way to the library.

 

 

***

 

Kuroo wasn't sure what to expect when he moved in with Kenma. He knew Kenma's parents worked a lot, but he didn't know the house would be empty so often. He finds he only needs to be a cat in the early mornings before Kenma leaves for school and sometimes at night if his parents come home before Kenma goes to bed. He observes enough of their interactions to know that the two adults at least care about their son. They ask him if he's eating, how he's doing in school, if he has enough money for groceries, and they sound interested when they question him.

Kuroo notes how Kenma's eyes light up whenever his parents pay attention to him, the way he seems to wilt whenever they leave or say they won't be home until late. He rubs his back against Kenma's ankles in a show of comfort, but there's not much he can do in his cat form, and Kenma never seems to want to talk about his parents when he switches back.

When Kenma gets home from school his routine mainly consists of playing his games or doing homework. Sometimes Yaku will come over, sometimes both him and Haiba (though Kuroo notes Haiba never comes over by himself). Lately, though, Kuroo notices that they've been visiting less often. He tries not to let himself think this means Kenma wants to spend more time alone with him, but even when he tries to give Kenma space by staying in the bedroom or downstairs if Kenma goes straight to his room after school, Kenma winds up finding him and settling close by.

And every night before dinner, Kuroo teaches Kenma what he knows about magic. Kenma's a fast learner, he finds, perhaps even faster than Kenta. Within a few weeks he's already able to conjure elements without speaking, and his attack power is growing stronger as well.

One night they're in the backyard, the sun setting on the horizon. Kuroo knows curfew will be in effect soon, but Kenma's doing so well he doesn't bring it up. He's set up targets around the fence and is guiding Kenma through the aiming process. Already he has a 75% success rate, and Kuroo can tell he's determined to get to 100%.

It's enthralling to watch him. The way the magic thickens around him, vibrating the air with such power Kuroo can feel his skin crawl with the sensation. It's like electricity, making the hair on Kuroo's arms stand on end, and there's this flash in Kenma's eyes, a golden spark that sends shivers down Kuroo's spine.

_I wouldn't want to be his enemy._

_[you sure you should be teaching him these things?]_

Kuroo doesn't reply. Kenma's tongue is sticking out of the corner of his mouth and it's distracting. He lifts his palm toward the last target, the wood of the fence burned dark around it in the places he hit earlier. His eyes are wide, glowing like fire in the light of the setting sun, and Kuroo feels his heart pounding faster as the buzz of magic grows stronger right before Kenma fires a blast of concentrated white light.

It hits the center of the target, a perfect bullseye.

"Yay!" Kuroo calls, stepping over and lifting his hand for a high-five.

Kenma looks pleased, as he smacks his hand lightly against Kuroo's. His skin is hot, and Kuroo can see a sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead behind his hair.

"Hmm, we should break for the night. You've worked hard. You need rest."

Kenma glances along the fence, noting which targets he's still missed. "My success rate is only at 85%," he says, turning back to Kuroo. "Let's keep going."

Kuroo laughs. "I admire your tenacity, but it's getting dark. Soon you won't be able to even see the targets. We'll do it again tomorrow, come on." He grasps Kenma's hand, giving it a small tug.

With a sigh, Kenma allows him to lead him back into the house. Kuroo gives him a tiny nudge toward the stairs.

"Go take a bath. I'll make dinner and some tea."

"Mmph."

Kenma walks off, and Kuroo catches himself watching him go with a faint smile. He's not sure what he looks like, but he's fairly certain it's an expression of tenderness that's probably best put away before Kenma can see it. He turns to the kitchen, trying to remember what he's seen Kenma eat.

He debates going next door to ask Yaku for help, but he kind of wants to impress Kenma by doing this alone. He managed to cook meals for himself and Kenta back in the day, and he's cooked well enough for one so far. How difficult could it be to make something nice for two?

He's in the middle of cooking rice and slicing up pieces of chicken when he feels something. It's just the slightest brush of warmth against his aura, but it's enough to make him freeze, eyes widening. He glances toward the end of the stairs, which he can just see on the other side of the entrance to the kitchen.

_Did he just . . ._

He feels it again, the briefest slide of aura, just enough to send a shiver down his spine. He sets down the knife, wiping his hands on the apron he'd put on. He moves toward the stairs before he can think better of it, ascending swiftly.

_[you're an idiot.]_

_He's calling to me. The way Kenta . . ._

The door to the bathroom is closed, and Kuroo stares at it, his heart pounding in his throat.

_[don't open it. he's not kenta. it was probably a fluke.]_

_But he has to know that's how Kenta called to me. He's spent so much time going through his memories._

The whisper doesn't speak again, so Kuroo figures that he's right. He has to be right. He reaches out, his hand trembling, and grasps the door handle. He inhales deeply, and then opens the door quickly before he can second-guess himself further.

Kenma's sitting in the bath, only his bare shoulders and head visible. He jumps at the sudden entrance, his head whipping around to stare wide-eyed at Kuroo. His hair flies across his face, obscuring it briefly, but when it settles Kuroo can see the shock on his face, which quickly turns into irritation.

"What are you doing?" he asks, pulling his knees up to his chest quickly. "Get out!"

Kuroo blinks at him. "But . . . I felt your aura. You called to me."

Kenma grows still, his eyes staring at Kuroo without blinking before quickly darting away. "You felt that?"

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

Kenma wrinkles his nose. "I wasn't sure."

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, feeling decidedly awkward now. He realizes that he's kind of staring at the curve of Kenma's back, the knobs of his spine pressing against his skin, which is damp from the bath and looks so soft . . .

He looks away quickly, feeling his cheeks grow warm. "Sorry. I'll just . . . I'm going to go, um, finish dinner." He turns toward the door before pausing, glancing over at Kenma. "Just curious though . . . why did you reach out to me in the first place?"

Kenma says nothing, but falls backwards, submerging himself in the water with a light splash. Kuroo fights a grin, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. He feels somewhat giddy, which is strange. He can't remember the last time he felt this way. It sort of feels like he's just won something, though he has no idea what.

He returns to the kitchen, whistling softly under his breath, as he finishes the meal. Not long after Kuroo's set the table (with a rather impressive spread), Kenma pads into the kitchen in socked feet and a gray oversized t-shirt paired with long pajama pants that have cherry red apples covering them. His hair is damp, clinging to the sides of his face, and he blinks at the food for a moment before taking a seat.

Kuroo slides the tea over, and he's unable to keep from grinning, even though Kenma refuses to meet his gaze. Feeling bold, Kuroo reaches up to flip a strand of Kenma's hair over his shoulder.

"You know, I could've joined you in that bath if you wanted me to."

Kenma looks up at him with a frown. "I didn't."

"If you say so~" Kuroo steps around the table to sit across from Kenma.

Kenma continues to glare at him, nose wrinkled like he just smelled something decidedly unpleasant. Kuroo simply says his thanks and begins to eat, enjoying this feeling of ease that's settled between them. If they're close enough now to banter that has to be a good sign, right? If Kenma is letting him tease, that has to mean he likes him enough to allow it.

_[you're pathetic.]_

Kuroo ignores the voice. Kenma sighs, picking up his chopsticks and saying his thanks before starting to eat. Kuroo watches his face, hoping for a sign that it's good, but Kenma gives none. His face is as impassive as always, though he does continue to eat. Kuroo isn't sure if he should fill the silence or not, but it feels comfortable, so he lets it be. The food turned out pretty well, he thinks, and Kenma ends up finishing his bowl and tea entirely.

He leans back then with a sigh, slumping in his seat.

"Tired now?" Kuroo asks, smiling faintly.

Kenma nods.

Standing, Kuroo clears away the dishes, setting them in the sink and cleaning them. As he does, Kenma makes his way out into the living area. When Kuroo's placed the dishes on the drying rack, he turns to follow, grinning when he sees Kenma lying on the couch with his PSP above his head, thumbs jabbing the buttons quickly.

"Hey, move your legs," Kuroo says, and waits until Kenma pulls his knees up before sitting down across from him. Kenma lowers his legs again, placing them on top of Kuroo's lap. For a moment Kuroo freezes, staring down at them and unsure of what to do. But Kenma doesn't say a word, only continues to play, so Kuroo forces himself to relax.

He picks up the remote and mindlessly flips through the channels. It seems surreal that in only a few months Kenma's gone from not wanting to have anything to do with him to calmly lying on the couch beside him with his feet in his lap. Testing the waters, Kuroo moves his free hand down to wrap it around one of Kenma's small feet. When it makes no move to kick at him, he slowly begins to massage it, settling on an overdramatic drama.

He finds himself watching Kenma more than the show. The way his lips purse sometimes, or fall into a faint pout, or twitch in a tiny smile. Kuroo has no idea what's going on in his game to illicit these reactions, but he's enjoying them nonetheless. The whisper is blessedly silent, and for a moment he feels like a normal man relaxing with his best friend, or even a significant other.

"My birthday is coming up. October 16th. Yaku-kun and Haiba usually come over, and then I go to Akaashi's, but if you wanted we could . . ."

Kuroo freezes, wondering why that date sounds so familiar. He feels a twist of dread in his stomach, his heart pounding faster. Kenma seems to sense the shift in the atmosphere, because he trails off and pulls his foot out of Kuroo's grasp, sitting up. He crosses his legs, lowering his game, and tilts his head to study Kuroo's expression.

"What's wrong?"

"That date . . . what did you say it was?"

"Um. October 16th."

_[that's the date he died, isn't it?]_

Kuroo remembers his trip to Nekoma's library his first day at the school. He remembers his frantic search for anything regarding Kenta, only to find a single page in a single textbook about the ancient history of magic. It didn't seem right to him. Kenta's worth more than that. He deserved more than that. He was so bright and so large to Kuroo. He could write entire encyclopedias about Kenta. And yet his entire life, his entire existence, was summed up in one paragraph.

_The demon responsible for the villages' destruction was killed by a young sorcerer known only as Kenta. He went on to assist with closing the Hell Mouth and disappeared shortly afterward. The last known sighting of him was at his deathbed. He died of an unknown cause on October 16th, at the end of the Ōei period. He was thirty-three._

Thirty-three. Only eleven years after Kuroo's own death. Kuroo remembers reading that and feeling like someone stabbed him through the heart. He dropped to the floor and pressed the book to his forehead to hide his tears.

_What did killing me do to you?_

"Kuro."

Kuroo's head snaps up. "Don't call me that," he says sharply before he can think. "Kenta called me that. You can't . . ."

Kenma blinks at him slowly. His expression doesn't change, but Kuroo can sense the wall that's fallen between them clicking into place. He leans back, picking up his game again.

"Okay."

Kuroo grimaces, his heart still pounding much too fast. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . You can call me Kuro if you want. You can call me whatever you like."

"It's not a big deal." Kenma's eyes don't leave the screen of his PSP, and there's no inflection in his voice, but Kuroo can tell he's lying.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "No, it is. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You did nothing wrong. I just . . . Kenta died on that day. I should've suspected that that would be your birthday as well, considering what you are, but I guess I never . . . thought about it really . . ."

Kenma's gaze slides off to the side briefly. "You don't have to celebrate my birthday then," he says quietly.

Kuroo feels a pang of guilt and shakes his head, reaching out to lightly touch Kenma's knee with his fingertips. "It's your birthday. Of course I want to celebrate it."

Kenma shakes his head. "It's the anniversary of your . . . of Kenta's death. You should spend it with him."

Kuroo laughs hollowly. "Doing what? Staring at the wall talking to myself?" Kenma flinches just slightly, and Kuroo bites his lip. "No, Kenma . . . it's okay. I might take some time to myself while you're at Akaashi's (he probably doesn't want me there anyway), but I do want to celebrate your birth. It's a moment to be celebrated."

Kenma's cheeks redden faintly, and he lifts his PSP again.

"Okay."

He doesn't mention it again.

 

Kuroo agonizes for three days over what to get Kenma as a gift. He passes by the craft store with the ribbons in the window approximately ten times before he finally decides that it's not a dumb idea and buys a red one for Kenma's hair. He's only ever seen him with his hair tied back once but . . . red is his favorite color.

Just in case Kenma doesn't appreciate such a simple gift, he does his best to make an apple pie. Unfortunately his baking skills aren't as well practiced as his cooking ones, and Kenma makes his way down the stairs on the morning of his birthday to the smell of smoke.

"What's burning?" he asks, standing in the entry way of the kitchen and blinking blearily at the disaster Kuroo's created.

"Shit, uh, it's supposed to be your birthday pie," he admits, setting down the extra crispy dessert. He quickly steps over to the sliding glass doors and opens one to let out the smoke. When he turns back, Kenma is poking at the darkened crust with a fork. "Erm, happy birthday?"

Kenma doesn't reply, but he does sink the fork tines into the pie. Kuroo's eyes widen, as he lifts a steaming mouthful and raises it toward his lips.

"Kenma!" Leaping over, he snatches the fork from Kenma's grasp. "It's too hot still; you'll burn yourself! You have to let it cool!"

Kenma makes a small mewl of complaint, before shuffling over to the table and sitting down. He leans forward to rest his head against the top of it, closing his eyes. He's not usually this lethargic in the mornings (although Kuroo wouldn't exactly call him a _morning_ person), so he can't help but approach him with concern.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Had a nightmare," Kenma murmurs.

Kuroo stands for a moment before stepping over to the coffee maker. "Do you want to talk about it?" He can't remember hearing Kenma last night. Had he woken and left the room without his knowledge?

"No."

Kuroo figured as much. He finds extracting personal information from Kenma rather difficult. He's starting to realize that if Kenma wants to tell him something he will on his own or will prompt Kuroo to ask. And if he doesn't want to say anything, he won't no matter what you say or do.

Kuroo pours the coffee into two mugs, setting one in front of Kenma and then lingering a moment. "You know . . . you can wake me up when you get nightmares if you need to. I don’t mind."

Kenma opens his eyes, and the one facing Kuroo stares at him for a few long seconds until it flutters closed once more.

"Okay."

Kuroo tries to calm his racing heart, baffled by his own reaction to that look. Shaking his head, he steps back over to the mess he'd made at the counter, cleaning up while the pie cools. Kenma wraps one hand around the mug in front of his face, but he doesn't sit up to start drinking it until Kuroo comes back with the plate of pie.

"Happy birthday! Sorry if it's no good."

Kenma picks up the fork Kuroo hands him, digging into the piece immediately. He chews and swallows while Kuroo watches with bated breath. Finally, a tiny smile lifts his lips.

"It's not terrible."

Kuroo relaxes with a sigh. He laughs then, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've never made a pie before, so I know I have a lot to improve on. I'm glad it's not disgusting though."

Kenma hums, continuing to eat. He seems content, happy even, and Kuroo feels a warm, light sensation in his chest. Sitting down, he draws his coffee closer and watches Kenma enjoy his pie, unable to keep from smiling until his cheeks start to hurt.

_[you're completely whipped.]_

_I don't even care._

Kenma's parents left a game for him with a note apologizing that they couldn't be there for his birthday, and Kenma quickly sets it up on his main console. He remains in his pajamas (still those adorable apple pants with the gray too-large shirt), feet pressed against each other in front of him, toes wiggling together. He sits on the floor in front of the couch, and Kuroo joins him, watching until Kenma says he can try. He fails horribly, but he makes it fun by being overdramatic about it, grinning as Kenma rolls his eyes at him and tries not to laugh.

It's a nice, comfortable time, and Kuroo doesn't want it to end. Yaku and Haiba join them around noon, Yaku bringing delicious smelling food that tastes just as good. They have more pie, and Kenma opens his other gifts (a new game for his PSP from Haiba, and a couple new hoodies from Yaku). Yaku and Kuroo watch from the couch, then, as Kenma plays a racing game on the TV with Haiba (the latter flailing quite a bit while the former struggles with his exasperation).

"You know, I wasn't sure about you at first," Yaku tells Kuroo beneath the loud noise of Haiba's playing. "But Kenma-kun seems a lot happier now that you're here."

Kuroo feels his chest swell with something akin to pride. "Really? You think?"

Yaku nods. "Having you here has been good for him, I'll admit. That doesn't mean I'm not still keeping an eye on you though. If you fuck this up, you'll have a few of us to deal with."

Kuroo's grin slips away. "Er, right." Glancing down at the back of Kenma's head, he swallows hard. He hopes he doesn't fuck up. He's finding himself caring more about Kenma than he ever thought he could. And while he feels that pang of sadness and regret still whenever he thinks of Kenta, so far it hasn't completely consumed him. He thinks having Kenma has something to do with that.

"I'm not going to hurt him," he says with more confidence than he feels. He glances over at Yaku to find the other considering him.

"I don’t think you'll try to."

There was a "but" in there, but he doesn't say it. Kuroo nods in understanding, turning back to watch the game then.

_[look at you. not even mourning kenta on the day he died. have you forgotten him already?]_

_I've been mourning Kenta for months. I'm not going to ruin Kenma's birthday by being all depressed._

_[it's truly incredible how quickly you've seemed to have gotten over him. it makes me wonder if you loved him as much as he loved you.]_

_Don't question my love for Kenta._

Guilt settles in Kuroo's stomach, though, and he curses the whisper. At least soon Kenma will be leaving for Akaashi's, and he can take some time to properly remember Kenta. He wonders if he can find out where he was buried.

But when Yaku and Haiba leave in the late afternoon, Kenma doesn't go with them. He lingers by the door, watching Kuroo expectantly.

Kuroo blinks back at him. "Aren't you going to Akaashi's?" he asks.

Kenma shakes his head. "I don't want to." He steps past Kuroo, heading for the stairs.

Kuroo watches him go, wondering what that was all about. Kenma's closer to Akaashi than anyone, even Yaku it seems. He doesn't understand why he wouldn't want to spend time with him, especially on a day like today when they had a tradition. He quickly follows after Kenma, taking the stairs two steps at a time.

"Did something happen between you two?" he asks when he arrives in the bedroom.

Kenma moves to sit on the edge of the bed, wiggling his toes against the floor. "Was the pie my only present?" he asks in a not so subtle change of topic.

Kuroo remembers the ribbon his pocket and the back of his neck burns. "Erm, no. I also got you this." He pulls out the ribbon slowly, twisting it over his finger before unraveling it and placing it in his palm. He extends his hand, offering it to Kenma. "It's . . . kind of stupid, I know. But you said red was your favorite color, and I thought it'd look nice in your hair."

_[red looked nice on kenta too.]_

_Shut the fuck up. I don't need this right now._

The whisper falls silent, and Kenma stares down at the ribbon. Kuroo feels anxiety tightening in his chest, and he's just about to withdraw and pocket the ribbon once more, when Kenma suddenly pulls one leg up onto the bed to turn to the side, tilting his head.

Kuroo blinks. "You want me to . . ."

Kenma doesn't reply, simply sits and waits. Swallowing hard, Kuroo moves to sit on the bed behind him. He lifts the ribbon, sliding it beneath Kenma's soft hair and drawing it up on the sides. He turns one side under the other and pulls the hair together into a tail at the nape of Kenma's neck. He ties a firm knot so it stays before making a bow. A few strands don't make it, and they slip forward to frame Kenma's face. He turns around when Kuroo lowers his hands, and he's so close Kuroo can see flecks of brown in the amber of his eyes.

His heart is stuttering, tripping over an uneven rhythm in the continuing tightness of his chest. Kenma's eyes are searching his face for something, Kuroo's not sure what, but he's not saying anything and the tension in the air between them feels like a string pulled tight.

Slowly, Kuroo lifts his hand, brushing some of the hair away from Kenma's face. He allows his fingers to linger, to rest against Kenma's temple, before sliding them down to his cheek and then his jaw. He struggles to keep his breathing even, as he hesitantly touches his thumb to Kenma's lips. They're soft, warm, and he runs his thumb along the line of them. They part, and his thumb follows the lower lip, trembling against it before moving away.

"I–"

Kenma doesn't let him speak. He leans forward, reaching up to wrap his hand around the back of Kuroo's neck, tugging him down to meet him. Kuroo moves with the guidance willingly, and when their lips meet he feels his chest shudder with what might be relief.

_Finally. Finally. Finally._

Kenma tilts his head, pressing deeper, and Kuroo wraps his arm around his back to pull him closer. It's their first kiss, their first real kiss, but they fit together perfectly, like they've been doing this for years. Kenma's scent surrounds him, his warmth, and when he slips his tongue into his mouth, Kuroo tastes apples and cinnamon.

A low moan catches in his throat, and he tries to stifle it, even as he twists and pulls Kenma into his lap. He straddles Kuroo, knees on either side of his hips, and Kuroo slides his hands up the back of Kenma's shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the soft, worn material. Kenma's fingers have moved into his hair, gripping like he fears Kuroo might pull away at any moment. But the thought of pulling away is the last thing on Kuroo's mind.

It feels like he's been starving for decades, and he's finally receiving nourishment. He drinks in Kenma, feels that desire to devour him, and he pushes more urgently into the kiss.

It feels familiar. It feels right. His senses are flooded, overwhelmed, and he feels a sense of déjà vu, a pang of nostalgia. With the feel of this warm, soft body on top of him, wrapped around him, his mind whisks him into the past before he can stop it. He hears the creak of the bed and remembers an inn, hears the sound of men singing raunchy songs below them, smells the scent of the road they just traversed on Kenta's skin.

Nails dig into his scalp, there's a roll of hips, and Kuroo's breath catches in his throat. The images in his mind are disjointed, fragmented. He sees Kenma, and then Kenta, the two merging together on top of him. He hears a soft whimper, and it sounds like Kenta, he's sure it's him. He's only ever heard Kenta make that noise. There's more pressure against the front of his pants, and he can't help the groan that escapes.

" _Kenta._ "

Everything stops. The image shatters, as his brain grinds to a halt, and his heart skips a beat.

That wasn't–

The pressure disappears, the warmth dissipates, and Kuroo opens his eyes to meet the look of anger and betrayal on Kenma's face, as he stands in front of him, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Get out," he says, and his voice is like ice.

Kuroo feels something splinter deep inside him. He reaches for Kenma, but he shies away from him, leaving him grasping empty air.

"Kenma, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . I wasn't trying to–"

"Get _out_!"

"Kenma–"

" _Leave_!"

Kenma's trembling, and his eyes are glimmering with tears, though none fall. Kuroo's heart twists painfully, his gut wrenches, and he tries one more time to fix things.

"I can explain, _please_. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to think of him, I swear. I wanted you. I want _you_. I think I lo–"

Kenma inhales sharply, recoiling like he's been struck. "Don't." He shoves the word out through clenched teeth, cutting Kuroo off before he can finish the phrase. His eyes flash, wide and bright with fury. "You don’t get to say that."

Kuroo watches helplessly, as Kenma yanks the ribbon out of his hair and flings it at him. It flutters to the floor between them, and when Kuroo lifts his gaze from it, Kenma is gone.

 

 

***

 

Kenma wanders toward the park. He pulled on his coat before he left, and it's buttoned up, leaving only his pajama clad legs visible. He forgot to grab his phone or his PSP, and his fingers twitch until he shoves them into his coat pockets.

How could he have been so stupid?

He shouldn't have expected it to go any differently. It was too soon. Despite what Kuroo had been about to say, he loved Kenta too much still to be with Kenma in that way. Kenma should've known. He should've realized.

Finding a bench, he sits and leans over his knees, trying to alleviate the tightness of his chest. It doesn't really help.

It's not fair. He's never wanted to be this close to anyone. Well, there’s one other person . . . but that isn't possible either. He aches. Tears burn his eyes, and he shuts them tightly to keep them at bay. There's no use crying about it. That won't change anything and being out in the open it's embarrassing. He curls his fingers into the thick cloth of his coat, gripping tightly and trying not to think about the kiss.

His first real kiss.

He's not sure how long he sits there. He doesn't have anywhere else to go. He briefly considers going to Keiji, but Bokuto is probably there and anyway, he's not sure he's ready to hear Keiji's overly polite version of "I told you so." There's Mori, but he'll only get angry and want to confront Kuroo, and Kenma just wants to forget it ever happened.

Minutes tick by, and the sun starts to sink behind the trees. It'll be dark soon, meaning curfew, but he doesn't want to return until he's sure Kuroo will be gone. Frowning, he remembers Kuroo’s words, how desperate he seemed. How he'd been about to say . . .

No. He shouldn't think of that. It's unlikely that it's true. Kuroo probably only thinks it is because Kenma reminds him so much of Kenta. He proved that today.

Kenma's fairly certain that if there's a list somewhere of the lousiest birthdays, this one would be near the top.

Inhaling deeply, Kenma straightens, staring across the path toward the fountain in the center of the park. He senses movement in the trees and frowns. What kind of person would be bold enough to be out at this hour? He shivers, as a dark, insidious feeling creeps over him. Whatever's approaching isn't good. He stands, deciding it's better to at least head toward the neighborhood, when he runs into a young man around his age, but taller. With wavy brown hair and wide brown eyes, he appears unassuming and approachable, but Kenma feels uneasy, as he takes a step back.

“Ah, sorry. Kozume, isn't it? You attend the Nekoma Institute.”

Kenma frowns.

“We've never formally met, but we ran into each other briefly a couple months ago. You probably don't remember. My name Oikawa Tooru.” He places his hand on his chest, smiling brightly at Kenma.

 _He's telling me his given name?_ There's something off about his smile. It's a little too wide; the teeth are clenched a little too tightly. And when Kenma reaches out to sense his aura, he feels and sees nothing.

He quickly takes a step back. “What do you want?”

“Well, Kozume-chan, I need your help.” Oikawa opens his arms to the side before clasping his hands in front of him. “I need to open the Hell Mouth so I can take my father’s power and protect all of Japan. It's better than waiting for him to strike. If I make the first move, I can control the board. You understand.”

Kenma's eyes widen. He whirls around, ready to run, but he finds himself stuck, feet unable to move. He frowns down at them and then over his shoulder. Oikawa's left eye is glowing crimson, and when he smiles, fangs glisten in place of canines. Slowly, the rest of his glamor falls away, revealing curved horns, black claws instead of nails, and a dark pattern of hardened scales swirling in different shapes across the left side of his face and down his neck to disappear beneath the collar of his shirt.

A half-demon.

Kenma lifts his hand, parts his lips to defend himself, but Oikawa's red eye flashes and Kenma's mouth snaps shut.

“Now, now, there's no need for things to get violent. If you come along quietly, then I can have you home tomorrow in time for school.” He smiles benevolently, and Kenma feels a press against his mind, like a stick poking and prodding, trying to find a weak spot.

Kenma glares, drawing up his magic and building an iron wall around his mind, effectively blocking Oikawa from entering. The half-demon’s smile disappears quickly, his lips turning down in a pout.

“You're being troublesome, Kozume-chan. If you come with me, if you help me, nobody needs to get hurt.”

Kenma tries to think of what Kuroo taught him about using wordless magic. He closes his eyes, clearing his mind, and finds the spell. His aura burns bright around him, growing denser in preparation for the blast. Oikawa’s frown deepens.

“What are you doing? You're just going to wear yourself out building all that energy with no way to expel it.”

_You think so?_

The magic fires from his palm, heading for Oikawa's chest. He flings his arms up to shield himself with his forearms, and the spell on Kenma’s legs breaks. He starts to run, when he hears a shout behind him.

“Makki! Matsun!”

Two young men materialize from the trees. Their expressions are blank, eyes glazed over, and before Kenma can think of another spell to knock them down without hurting them, the taller one grabs his arms, twisting them behind his back. Kenma struggles to pull a hand free, but the shorter one, a pink scar marring his forehead, swings his hand hard against the side of Kenma’s head. Pain explodes behind his eyes, and the world fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [whispers] _i'm so sorry_
> 
>  
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	14. if we don't rise we fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((there is smut in this chapter! To bypass it, stop at "It's too much." and skip to "He falls over onto the bed"))

 

 

 

the loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart,  
and all they can do is stare blankly.

\--f. scott fitzgerald, _the great gatsby_

* * *

 

 

Iwaizumi is half-asleep when he heard the window across the room slide open with a faint thud. He immediately reaches for something he can use as a weapon, and his fingers curl around the alarm clock on his bedside table. He yanks it closer, popping the plug out of the socket, and holds it aloft.

"Who's there?"

A figure climbs through the window, one with horns and nails like claws. A single red eye glows in the darkness, and Iwaizumi's gut clenches, as his heart pounds faster. The hands move up in a placating gesture.

"Iwa-chan! It's just me."

Iwaizumi throws the clock. It hits Tooru's stomach, before falling to the floor. Tooru doubles over slightly with a faint wheeze.

"I said it was me! Tooru!"

"I knew who it was when I threw it." Iwaizumi frowns over at him. His heartbeat is beginning to return to normal, but the uneasiness isn't fading. He reaches over to turn on the lamp beside his bed, and he watches as Tooru flinches in the sudden light. Iwaizumi's frown deepens, as he notices the discoloration on the backs of Tooru's forearms. He pushes away the covers of his bed, standing to cross over to him.

"What's this?" he asks gruffly, grabbing Tooru's wrist and holding it up to inspect the marks. It looks like a burn, the skin pink and swollen. When he looks at the other arm, he sees the same pink there as well. "What happened?"

Tooru squints down at his arm. "Oh. I got into a bit of a scuffle. It's fine. My scales protected me."

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. "Scales?"

Tooru nods and holds up his free arm. As Iwaizumi watches, the black of his nails seems to crawl down the back of his hand to his wrist and all the way up to his elbow, covering the skin completely. Iwaizumi releases Tooru's wrist to touch the organic armor. It's rough beneath his fingertips. It doesn't feel like scales, more like scabbed skin, like the swirling marks on Tooru's shoulder, neck, and face.

"I didn't know you could do that," he admits, allowing his hand to fall to his side.

"I didn't know I could do it either," Tooru replies, lowering his hand as well. The armor recedes into Tooru's fingernails once more, and when he flexes his hand he pulls on his glamor, disguising the claws as normal human nails. "They just appeared when I was attacked. Like my body was trying to protect me."

Iwaizumi can't help but think that's pretty cool, but on the other hand he's stuck on the fact that Tooru was _attacked_.

"Who attacked you? Was it a demon? A magic user? When did this happen? What were you even doing out past curfew?"

Tooru makes a face. "Iwa-chan, I'm fine."

"If you're fine, what are you doing here?" Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on Tooru's until the other shifts and turns his face away.

"Can't I just come visit my best friend?"

Iwaizumi scowls. He can tell Tooru is hiding something from him, but seeing as he's not a mind reader, he turns and heads back to bed. He climbs under the covers, pulling them up, before he reaches to turn off the lamp.

"If you're not going to tell me what's going on, I'm going back to sleep. Goodnight, Shittykawa." He turns his back to Tooru, lying down and closing his eyes.

As he predicted, it's less than a minute later when Tooru tugs on his blankets and gets into the bed behind him.

"I'm sorry."

Iwaizumi turns back around to face him. His eyes still need to adjust to the dark, but he can hear the frown in Tooru's voice. The regret that lies beneath his words. He reaches out to gently flick Tooru's forehead, though in the dark he catches his nose instead.

"Ow!"

"Just tell me what's going on and let me help, dumbass."

Tooru reaches up to rub at his nose. Iwaizumi begins to see the outline of his face, and he's almost able to make out his expression, when the moon appears from behind the clouds. It shines its light through the window onto the both of them, back-lighting Tooru so his form becomes a silhouette. Iwaizumi frowns faintly, as the shadows darken, and Tooru's obscured from him once more.

"It's not something you can help me with."

"Try me."

"Iwa-chan . . ."

"Does it have something to do with your dad? With the Hell Mouth?"

Tooru doesn't reply. Iwaizumi sighs, but the tightness in his chest doesn't alleviate. "That's it, isn't it? Something bad is going to happen. Soon." When Tooru continues to remain silent, Iwaizumi props himself up on his elbow. He pushes against Tooru's shoulder, forcing him onto his back, so he can see his expression in the moonlight. Tooru stares up at him, lips pursed, as tears form in his eyes.

"I'm trying to stop it." Tooru's voice is barely above a whisper.

"Let me help."

"I _can't_."

Iwaizumi can feel desperation rising within him. He's always been there for Tooru, no matter what, ever since they were six years old, and they first met in the backyard of Tooru's home. He was there for Tooru every birthday when others refused to show for fear of the strange boy. He was there for Tooru when he had his first nightmare, even though his screams and powerful magic had frightened Iwaizumi. He's there for him now at Aoba Johsai, making sure he doesn't over train, making sure he doesn't give in to the despair over his supposed destiny.

It doesn't make sense that he can't be there for Tooru even now. He should be able to fight beside him against whatever is happening. At Tooru's side is where he belongs.

He remembers the knight on Tooru's wall, how Tooru spoke so softly with a rosy glow on his cheeks.

_"Kings have knights, don't they?"_

Well, how the fuck is he supposed to be Tooru's knight if he doesn't let him know what he's fighting against?

"Iwa-chan . . ."

Iwaizumi pulls himself out of his thoughts to focus on the young man beneath him. Tooru lifts his hand, touching Iwaizumi's cheek lightly with cold fingertips. Iwaizumi shivers, telling himself not to lean into the contact. He can recall all too well the disaster that was the last time he tried to be open about his feelings.

"What?" he asks, the word getting caught in the lump in his throat.

"You have to let me protect you too sometimes."

"And what exactly do I need protection from, Oikawa?" Iwaizumi asks flatly, though he already knows Tooru isn't going to answer him. The fingers on his cheek move down to his chin. They brush along the line of his jaw, trailing heat in their wake despite the ice of his skin.

He's right, Tooru doesn't answer. What he does do, however, catches him completely off-guard.

He tilts his head, leans up, and kisses Iwaizumi directly on the lips.

Iwaizumi feels the blood rush to his face, and he quickly places his hand on Tooru's chest, shoving him back down on the bed. Shaking his head, he grits his teeth, irritation buzzing across his forehead in the form of a headache.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Tooru's eyes are wet, but Iwaizumi's heart is pounding, and all he can think of is Tooru's mocking laugh after he kissed him the last time.

"Iwa-chan¬–"

"Don't fucking mess with me, Oikawa. If this is some game you're playing to distract me from whatever the hell is going on it's not going to work."

"I'm not messing with you." Tooru's voice is small, and Iwaizumi can feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath his hand.

Iwaizumi's face feels hot, and he scowls harder. "You know how I feel about you. You have to know."

Tooru swallows hard. Iwaizumi can see the bob of his throat, the way the pale lines of his neck constrict and release. "I do know."

"You _laughed_ at me. You mocked me. You think I'd forget that so easily?" Iwaizumi can hear the hurt beneath the anger in his tone. He inhales sharply, sitting up and looking away to try and calm down. He can feel the bed move as Tooru sits up beside him, but he doesn't look at his friend, even when Tooru sets his chin lightly on his shoulder.

"Iwa-chan, I'm sorry. I was scared. I still am scared. But I promise that I'm not messing with you. I-I feel the same."

Iwaizumi stiffens. He turns his head to glare at Tooru, not sure if he's hearing correctly. "What?"

Tooru sighs, lifting his chin and then taking Iwaizumi's face in both his hands in order to look directly into his eyes. "I love you, Iwaizumi Hajime."

Iwaizumi inhales sharply. He studies Tooru's expression, searching for the joke, the lie, but all he sees is sincerity and affection, and his face and body burns. "Why were you scared to tell me that, dumbass?" he mutters, looking away.

"Because I am a demon, you are human, and this thing with my father is just going to get worse. I didn't want to drag you into a war with Hell."

"You're human too," Iwaizumi grumbles, his heart threatening to choke him, as it pulses quickly in his throat. He turns his gaze back to Tooru, frowning at him. "If that's all true, though, what made you change your mind? Why are you telling me this now?"

Tooru smiles, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. "Iwa-chan is irresistible."

Iwaizumi can feel his ears and neck heating further. He tries to think of a retort, an exclamation of dumbass or something, but before he can say anything, Tooru leans forward and kisses him once more. This time, Iwaizumi doesn't push him away. He presses back, one hand moving to Tooru's side, as Tooru moves one hand through his hair.

It doesn't seem quite real. He feels like he should be dreaming. Tooru's lips feel soft against his, and they move hesitantly, almost as though he's afraid Iwaizumi will shove him back again. In order to dispel that fear, Iwaizumi shifts his hand to Tooru's back, pulling him in closer, as he deepens the kiss. His teeth catch on Tooru's lower lip, and he tugs on it gently. Tooru gasps softly, his hand flexing in Iwaizumi's hair.

It's too much. Iwaizumi's head is spinning, and his heart feels close to bursting. He forces Tooru back onto the bed, never breaking the kiss, as he climbs on top of him. He straddles Tooru's hips, one hand pressing into the mattress beside Tooru's shoulder, the other moving to his side. Tooru parts his lips, and Iwaizumi enters immediately with his tongue, sweeping and pressing urgently. Tooru moans, arching his body into Iwaizumi's, and Iwaizumi can't help but rock his hips against the bulge he feels in Tooru's pants.

"Fuck," he gasps, breaking away from the kiss finally, as his entire body shudders.

"Iwa-chan," Tooru whimpers, rolling his hips up to meet Iwaizumi's. The slow drag of friction between them has them both trembling around a groan.

It's probably too soon, and yet it doesn't feel like it's soon enough. What took them so long to get to this point? Iwaizumi doesn't stop to question it; he moves with his baser instincts, reaching down between them to palm the front of Tooru's pants, groping gently, as he leans back to watch the flinch of pleasure on Tooru's face. He twists his head away, revealing that pale neck, and Iwaizumi can't help but duck his head to bite at it.

He runs his tongue along the line of it, finding a soft spot just beneath Tooru's jaw to latch on and suck. He continues to rub his hand against Tooru's erection through the material separating them, and Tooru stifles more whines, teeth digging into his lip. Iwaizumi lifts his head, panting softly, as he stares down at Tooru.

"Drop the glamor," he says, heart thudding wildly against his ribcage.

Tooru's eyes widen, but after a moment the air around him shivers and the magic melts away to reveal the horns, the eye, the fangs, the markings . . . Iwaizumi swallows, and thinks maybe he does have a demon fetish.

Or maybe it's just a Tooru one.

He presses a gentle kiss to the left side of Tooru's face, feeling the roughness of the markings beneath his lips. "You're beautiful." He murmurs it quietly, feeling the burn of heat in his cheeks, but Tooru smiles, and Iwaizumi supposes that being sappy isn't so bad.

Tooru doesn't come back with an annoying response at least. Instead, he simply turns his head, capturing Iwaizumi's lips in another deep kiss. Iwaizumi thumbs open Tooru's pants and slips his hand inside, past the slicked front of his underwear, to wrap around the hardened length. Tooru's hips jerk at the contact, and his breath hitches.

Iwaizumi can't help but grin, as he pulls from the kiss to glance down between them at the erection he holds. "Not a demon dick then," he observes. When he glances back up at Tooru's face, he's scowling at him despite the obvious flush of his cheeks.

"Really? You have to bring that up right now?"

Iwaizumi shrugs. "I was curious."

"I hate you."

Iwaizumi fights another grin, as he drags his hand slowly up the length in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the tip which immediately leaks more pre-cum.

"No, you don't."

Tooru bites his lip again, and his hand moves to Iwaizumi's shoulder, gripping tightly. Iwaizumi can feel the curve of his claws digging into his skin, though not enough to break the skin (yet). He grits his teeth against the sting, and begins to tug more quickly on Tooru.

He's panting beneath Iwaizumi, practically squirming, and Iwaizumi can feel his own pre-cum soaking into the front of his boxers. He struggles to keep his breathing even, as he leans back on his knees. Without a word, he tugs on Tooru's shirt, and Tooru immediately sits up to lift his arms, allowing Iwaizumi to pull the clothing off him. He tosses it onto the floor, and then grabs the waistband of Tooru's pants, tugging them off as well. Once all of Tooru's clothes are discarded, he leans down to press small yet urgent kisses along Tooru's collarbone, sliding his lips down his sternum.

Tooru's fingers grip his hair, and his thighs are quivering, as Iwaizumi gently spreads his legs apart. Tooru lifts his knees, as Iwaizumi moves to press a kiss on the inside of one thigh.

"Top drawer beside the bed," he mumbles against the skin, warm now from the flush covering Tooru from head to toe.

Tooru scrambles for the drawer, nearly knocking the lamp off the table, before he manages to open the drawer and pull out the bottle of lube. He lifts an eyebrow, as he hands it to Iwaizumi.

"I think you need to restock, Iwa-chan," he says around a breathless grin.

"Shut up," Iwaizumi grunts, taking the bottle quickly. There isn't much left, but there's enough for what he needs. He squeezes some out on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm them before pressing his index finger lightly against Tooru's entrance. He hears the sharp intake of breath above him, and lifts his gaze to meet Tooru's.

He pauses, waiting until Tooru gives him a quick nod, before gently sliding the tip of his finger past the resistance. Tooru groans, his head falling back against the pillow, as his hips twitch in response to the intrusion. Carefully, he inserts the rest of his finger, pausing as he feels Tooru clench around him. He's tight and hot, and Iwaizumi's burning all over, but he keeps still, waiting until Tooru tugs on the sheets beneath him and utters a quiet whine.

" _Iwa-chan_."

Iwaizumi swallows hard, moving his finger carefully, thrusting at a slow pace until Tooru begins to squirm again. He carefully pushes a second finger in beside the first, stretching him wider, as he scissors them gently. He kisses at Tooru's thigh closest to him, feeling the quiver of his skin. After a minute or so of thrusting, he cautiously adds a third finger. This time he pushes deeper, curling his fingers, searching for that spot.

Tooru inhales sharply, and when Iwaizumi presses against his prostate, he yelps softly, his hips lifting off the mattress, as he clenches the sheets, his claws tearing into them.

"Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi can't help but grin breathlessly, slowly stroking his fingers against the spot once more before drawing his fingers out. He grows still then, realizing that once they do this they can never go back. He lifts his gaze, meeting Tooru's, as he props himself up on one elbow.

"I want you to," Tooru says quietly, his breath hitching on the words.

That's all the encouragement Iwaizumi needs. He moves forward, planting his hand on the pillow beside Tooru's head as he bends down to kiss him deeply. Tooru rests his hand on Iwaizumi's back, slowly running over the muscle of his shoulder. Iwaizumi shivers at the slight drag of nails across his skin.

Iwaizumi reaches toward the drawer once more, in search of a condom, but Tooru reaches out to grab his wrist, stopping him. Iwaizumi leans back slightly, frowning faintly.

"You sure?" he murmurs.

Tooru nods, his throat constricting. "I want to feel you," he says, and Iwaizumi quickly kisses him again to hide his burning face.

Reaching down, Iwaizumi grabs the bottle of lube, squeezing the rest of it out onto his hand and slicking up his member with a few quick tugs that has him groaning into Tooru's mouth. He's already rolling his hips to meet Iwaizumi's, his claws tearing at the sheets further, and Iwaizumi kisses down the length of his neck, pressing his forehead against the curve of his collarbone, as he aligns himself. Once he's set against the hole, he loops his arm around Tooru's thigh, hoisting him up slightly in order to push into him.

He moves slowly, hearing Tooru's soft, broken cry at the pain of the intrusion. He grimaces, feeling bad but also overwhelmed with the tight heat pulsating around him. He settles into him, waiting, trembling, until Tooru inhales sharply and gives him a gentle nudge with his heel.

Iwaizumi begins to move his hips in shallow thrusts, going carefully, despite the intense pleasure rushing through him, causing his limbs to tremor. He feels the urge to go faster, but he keeps his slow pace, watching Tooru's face, as he rocks his hips. Tooru's cheeks are flushed, his neck elongated, as he tilts his head back against the pillow, biting his lip again to stifle the moan that reverberates low in his throat.

"Fuck," Iwaizumi grunts, finding the sight and the pressure too much to handle. He squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head, brows furrowed. He's panting hard, his heart hammering in his chest, and he places Tooru's leg around his waist before moving his hand to grasp the leaking member between them. He strokes upwards slowly, and Tooru releases another small cry, his claws beginning to dig into Iwaizumi's back.

"I-Iwa-chan. _Iwa-chan_."

Iwaizumi grimaces, adjusting and quickening his thrusts. Already he can feel his climax building, the pool of heat throbbing throughout his body, sweat slicking his thighs. He grits his teeth, taking a chance and opening his eyes to look down at Tooru. It was a mistake. His hair is splayed against the pillow, his lips parted as he gasps, and his eyes look back at Iwaizumi with such want and affection, Iwaizumi finds he can't hold his gaze.

"R-Right there. Iwa-chan. Push harder r-right _there_. Ah!"

His back arches, as Iwaizumi shoves his hips forward. His hand moves from Iwaizumi's back, and he claws at the mattress beneath him, leg clenched tightly around Iwaizumi's waist. Iwaizumi can't help but grin faintly, feeling something akin to victory, as he thrusts against that same spot again and again. His legs are shaking, and his hand pumps erratically over Tooru's length, as it continues to leak sticky strands of white.

Finally neither of them can take any more, and Iwaizumi stiffens, biting his lip hard to stifle the cry that catches in his throat. Tooru covers his mouth with the back of one hand, his body twitching, squeezing around Iwaizumi inside him. They come nearly at the same time, Iwaizumi first with Tooru immediately after. Iwaizumi's thrusts fall out of rhythm, and he gives Tooru's length a couple more strokes before pulling away.

He falls over onto the bed beside Tooru, panting heavily, his heart still beating rapidly. He waves his clean hand absently toward the bedside table, grabbing the box of tissues there and setting it between them. He pulls out a couple to clean his hand, before grabbing a few more and tossing them at Tooru's face.

He sputters, but then grabs the tissues, sitting up slightly to clean himself off before tossing them into the basket of trash across the room. He makes the shot cleanly, and Iwaizumi follows suit, not about to be outdone. He makes it as well, and they share a grin, each still heaving quiet breaths.

Then Tooru's gaze softens, and he reaches up to lay his fingers against Iwaizumi's cheek.

"Iwa-chan . . ." he trails off, and Iwaizumi doesn't expect him to say anything else. He's struggling to find anything coherent to say himself.

In the end, he simply stands and makes his way unsteadily toward his dresser, pulling out two pairs of clean boxers. He pulls one on before tossing the other at Tooru. As he moves to pull them on, Iwaizumi studies the claw marks that ripped his sheets and mattress.

"You're paying for that," he says then, getting back onto the bed and pulling the unmarred blankets up over them. He could use a shower, but once he lies down and closes his eyes, he can feel exhaustion setting into his muscles. They can shower tomorrow.

He expects Tooru to squawk at him and insist that he cannot pay because of his lack of job, but when there's no reply, he opens his eyes and glances over at him. Tooru's laying on his back, staring at his hand, the black claws that extend from the tips of his fingers in the place of nails.

Iwaizumi can't read his expression, and that uneasiness from earlier returns. He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at his best friend.

"Hey," he says quietly. "That was okay, right? What we did . . ."

Tooru blinks and the blank expression melts away, as he laughs. "Of course, Iwa-chan! I wanted it. I've wanted it for a while." He wraps his arm around Iwaizumi's neck, leaning up to kiss him gently. "If you keep worrying, you're going to get frown lines."

Iwaizumi reaches up to flick Tooru's forehead. "Go to sleep, dumbass."

He lies down, closer to Tooru than before. Tooru turns onto his side, and for some reason his mismatched eyes look sad as they study Iwaizumi's face.

"I love you, Hajime."

Something in Iwaizumi chest tightens, and he huffs in an attempt to loosen it, closing his eyes once more. "Don't think I've forgotten about what we were saying before. We're talking about it more in the morning."

"Okay."

The mattress shifts beneath him, and then he feels Tooru's hand on his arm, pulling it around his waist. He shifts closer, feeling Tooru's back against his chest, and he buries his face in Tooru's hair with a deep sigh. He tells himself not to let Tooru get away with avoiding his questions tomorrow. But for now, he just wants to be content with the feeling of Tooru in his arms and the knowledge that his love has been returned.

He ignores the sense of dread that curls low in his stomach, as his body relaxes into sleep.

He wakes early the next morning, just before the sun starts its ascent on the horizon. It takes him a moment to remember the previous night's events, but he can't help the faint smile that curls his lips when he does. Sitting up on his elbow, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, yawning slightly.

"G'morning," he mumbles, and expects a complaint about his breath or a fake snore to trick him into making breakfast alone. But only silence follows his greeting. He opens his eyes, frowning at the empty space beside him on the bed.

Tooru is gone.

In his place is a piece of paper, ripped from a notebook. In Tooru's neat handwriting is a single phrase,

_I'm sorry._

 

***

 

Not long after Kenma leaves, Kuroo makes his way to Bokuto's place. He doubts his friend will be very comforting, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go. The whisper keeps repeating its version of "I told you so," to the point where Kuroo can feel a headache pounding against the inside of his skull. He needs a drink.

Bokuto blinks in surprise when he sees him on his doorstep.

"Kuroo? What are you doing here?"

"Ken–Kozume kicked me out," Kuroo says around a rough laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He bites his lip then, worrying on it, as he looks into his friend's concerned expression. "I fucked up, Bo."

Bokuto doesn't say anything, simply takes a step back and opens the door wider. "My parents are home," he says apologetically. "But we can go up to my room."

Kuroo nods his thanks, stepping into the house and kicking off his shoes. He's never met Bokuto's parents, seeing as the guy mostly came over to his apartment when they hung out. He's not sure he's in a good state to make a nice first impression on them, though, so he murmurs his "sorry for intruding" and follows Bokuto up the stairs to his room without trying to locate them.

Once they're in the room, he throws himself on the bed with a low groan. Bokuto closes the door and then stands fidgeting by it, obviously at a loss as to what to do or say.

"Er, do you want to talk about it?"

"Have you ever gotten so close to what you want only to fuck it all up with a single word?" Kuroo asks rhetorically. When Bokuto doesn't reply, he glances over to find him frowning in thought, seriously contemplating the question. Sighing, he sits up, crossing his legs, as he turns to look at his friend.

"Never mind," he says, shaking his head. "I'm just wondering if I’m ever going to get anything right."

Bokuto steps over to climb onto the bed in front of him, crossing his legs as well. "You know what you have gotten right? You're my best friend! You took care of me before I figured out I could touch Akaashi. You made sure I didn't fall too deep into my dejection mode."

He grins, gold eyes shining, and Kuroo can't help but grin back faintly.

"You're super annoying, but not that difficult to handle," he says, rolling his shoulders back.

Bokuto quickly frowns. "Hey!"

Kuroo's grin widens, as Bokuto tackles him, knocking them back onto the mattress. "I'm not annoying! Take it back!"

"So annoying. The most annoying person I know." Kuroo laughs, grappling with Bokuto, as he goes for his hair and digs his other hand into his ribs.

"Yeah? Yeah?! Well, your hair is stupid! And so's your face!"

"You _like_ my face."

"I'm much better looking than you!"

"In your dreams maybe."

They wrestle their way off the bed, landing with a thud on the floor. Kuroo grimaces as his back hits the wood, but he's laughing, and though Bokuto's growling at him, he can see the way his aura is sparkling happily, no real anger darkening it. He manages to get his fingers into Bokuto's side, tickling him until he can't hold Kuroo down anymore. He turns them around then, straddling Bokuto's hips and pinning both his arms above his head.

He grins breathlessly. "Ha, I win," he says.

Bokuto pouts. "You played dirty."

Kuroo leans down to kiss the tip of Bokuto's nose. "Demon," he says, only half-joking. He gets off Bokuto then, moving to sit beside him. Pulling one knee up, he drapes his arm across it and takes a moment to look around the room. There are more books scattered about than he was expecting. Most of the titles are related to faerie lore. He doesn't see any normal textbooks, and he wonders if Bokuto has given up on his regular classes at Fukurodani or not.

"How's that search going? For the faeries, I mean," he asks, glancing over at Bokuto, as his friend sits up.

Bokuto's frown deepens. "Everyone's still claiming they're just a myth. The books even talk about them like their history is just a bedtime story. Nothing's getting me closer to _actually_ finding them."

"Maybe that's because they don't _actually_ exist, Bo." He doesn't want to crush his friend's dreams, but he's starting to get worried that Bokuto's obsession with these nonexistent beings will only be detrimental to him. If he's already neglecting his normal schoolwork . . .

"They do! They have to. Why else can me and Akaashi touch? It's because I was blessed by fae and curses don't work on me!" Bokuto seems so sure of this. Kuroo doesn't have the heart to discourage him further.

"Yeah, okay. If you say so."

Bokuto sits in sullen silence for a moment, and Kuroo grimaces. He moves closer, bumping his head lightly against the side of Bokuto's.

"Hey. I'm sorry. If you say they exist, I believe you."

Bokuto inhales sharply, turning to look at him. "You mean that?"

"Of course. What kind of supportive best bro would I be if I didn't?"

Bokuto smiles at that, and the sight of it makes Kuroo's chest feel somewhat lighter. "Is it okay if I stay the night?" he asks then, remembering why he came over in the first place.

"Yeah sure. Let me get a futon." Bokuto moves to stand, but Kuroo reaches out to grab his wrist, stalling him.

"Would you . . . would you mind if I slept with you?" Kuroo asks, keeping his gaze off to the side. His neck feels warm, but the thought of being able to hold someone is a comforting one.

Bokuto's eyes widen considerably. "You mean like¬–"

"Like just sleeping," Kuroo assures him quickly.

" _Oh_ ," Bokuto laughs in relief. "Good. I mean, not that I'd be _opposed_ to . . . but you know, Akaashi . . ."

"Yeah, I know." _How could I forget?_

"Uh, I'll get you something to change into," Bokuto offers, pulling his wrist out of Kuroo's grasp. He steps over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of dark blue boxers, an obnoxiously bright blue shirt, and pajama pants with tiny owls covering them. He tosses these to Kuroo on the floor, and then gestures toward the door.

"Bathroom and toilet is down the hall if you need it."

Kuroo catches the articles of clothing then stands with a nod. "Thanks."

He makes his way down, taking a quick shower before getting changed. As he gathers up his day clothes, the red ribbon falls from the pocket, coiling on the floor. He stares down at it, chest aching.

_[he probably hates you now.]_

_I know._

_[i told–]_

_I fucking swear if you say 'I told you so' one more time, I'm going to find a way to banish you once and for all, fuck demon magic._

He reaches down and snatches up the ribbon, stuffing it back into the pocket and leaving the bathroom. When he gets back to the bedroom, Bokuto's already changed into his own pajamas (a bright red shirt with black checkered pants). His eyes widen when he looks up at Kuroo.

"What?" Kuroo sets his clothes down by the dresser, crossing over to the bed then to get into it.

"You look different with your hair down."

Kuroo observes Bokuto, noticing his own spiked hair has been brushed down into a floppy mess. He smirks. "So do you."

Bokuto touches his hair, before turning off the lights. He makes his way to the bed, getting in beside Kuroo.

"Hey Kuroo?"

"What?"

"Did you know penguins mate for life?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"I think Akaashi's my penguin."

"That's great, Bo."

There's a moment of silence, and Kuroo takes advantage of this to turn away from Bokuto, closing his eyes to try to sleep.

"Hey Kuroo? Do you think I'm not enough for Akaashi?"

Kuroo sighs, turning back around to face Bokuto, frowning into the dark to try and see him without using his demon vision. "Why would I think that?"

"Well, he's still looking for a way to break his curse. It's like he's not happy with having just me."

"I'm pretty sure there's other factors to him wanting to break the curse that have nothing to do with you," Kuroo reasons, stifling a yawn.

"But what if he breaks the curse and then decides he wants to be with someone else? Right now I'm special, but I won't be special anymore if he can touch everybody . . ."

"It's pretty obvious that he's in love with you, so I don't think you have anything to worry about. Go to sleep, Bo."

"But what if–"

"Bo, _please_." Kuroo sits up on his elbow, frowning down at his friend. "You gotta stop thinking about what ifs. Enjoy the time you have with him. Saying shit like this is only going to make him feel bad about wanting to break the curse. You can't be selfish."

Bokuto frowns, but he falls silent. Kuroo lies back down. Turning once more onto his side, he closes his eyes and repeats that last phrase to himself.

_You can't be selfish._

Just because he had Kenta, that doesn't mean he's entitled to Kenma as well. If the boy decides he doesn't want anything to do with Kuroo after what happened, he's going to need to accept that and try to move on. No more lurking, no more frantic attempts at explanations.

He needs to learn to let go.

 

Of course there's still the issue of the fact all his belongings are at Kenma's. Steeling his courage, he leaves Bokuto's a little after seven, hoping to get there after Kenma's already left for school. The sky is overcast, heavy dark clouds looming over the neighborhood. He can sense the electricity in the air, smell the humidity. A storm is approaching and will probably hit soon.

And he has nowhere to go.

He tries not to think about that, as he arrives at Kenma's house. He frowns, noticing both Yaku and Haiba, as the boys linger on the porch. He jogs over to them, thinking they should've already left by now. His stomach twists sharply.

Something's wrong.

"Where's Kozume-kun?" Yaku asks him the instant he makes eye contact with Kuroo.

"He isn't here?" Kuroo glances at the front door. "Maybe he walked to school already?"

Yaku shakes his head. "He never leaves without us."

"Maybe he's at Akaashi's," Kuroo says. "He kind of . . . ran off last night. I figured he'd go there."

Yaku narrows his eyes. "He ran off?"

"I'm sure he's at Akaashi's," Kuroo says quickly, not wanting to linger under that glare. He turns and hops back off the porch, telling himself he's just going to make sure Kenma is okay, and then he'll never bother him again.

Yaku and Haiba follow him, and the silence between them feels oppressive, like the clouds above. He can tell Yaku wants to know what happened, but he also recalls their conversation on the couch just yesterday.

"How come you weren't at Kozume-san's home?" Haiba asks curiously.

"I spent the night at Bokuto's."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"But why did you want to? Did you and Kozume-san get into a fight?"

Kuroo frowns over at the tall kid beside him. Haiba blinks back at him innocently.

"It wasn't a fight," he says finally, turning back to face forward.

"Then why–"

"Haiba," Yaku says sharply. "He obviously doesn't want to talk about it." But the way Yaku continues to stare at Kuroo tells him he's just as curious.

He walks faster, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

When he knocks on Akaashi's door, he's not really surprised to see Bokuto on the other side of the door.

"Damn, you're fast," he says with a laugh.

Bokuto grins sheepishly. "I missed him."

"It was a single night, dude."

"Bokuto-san, who's at the door?" Akaashi's voice wafts over from further inside, and Bokuto glances over the three in front of him.

"Kuroo and a couple of Kozume's friends, I think."

Akaashi steps into the hallway, dressed in a loose fitting yukata. It's green, bringing out the color of his eyes, and the hakama around his waist is black. His hands are hidden in his sleeves, and when he sees the three outside his door, his eyebrows rise slowly.

"To what do we owe this honor?" he asks, his voice calm and polite.

Kuroo can sense the ice beneath his words, however; he knows Akaashi doesn't like him for some reason, which makes him even more nervous about asking about Kenma. If he's not there . . .

"We're looking for Kozume-kun," Yaku says. "We thought he might be here."

Akaashi blinks. "No, I haven't seen him in quite some time, actually."

Yaku and Haiba exchange troubled glances. Kuroo feels his heart sinking toward his stomach, as worry and guilt settle in. He shouldn't have let Kenma leave. He should've heeded his request to get out of his home when he told him to.

"He's not at home," Yaku says, turning back to Akaashi. "We don't think he's at school either. We were hoping he was with you."

Akaashi purses his lips. "He's not, but I have an idea of how to find him." He beckons them into the house, crossing over to the living room. As the others linger by the couch, he moves aside the coffee table before kneeling on the floor. He closes his eyes, placing his hands on his knees.

"What are you doing?" Kuroo asks, wondering if this was some sort of scrying tactic. But Akaashi hadn't drawn out a mirror or bowl of water, so he has no idea what's going on.

"Kozume-kun and I have bonded auras. I am attempting to sense his now," Akaashi says matter-a-factly.

"Whoa, bonded auras? That sounds cool! Can we try that, Yaku-san?" Haiba turns to look down at Yaku excitedly.

Yaku face reddens. "Not now, Haiba," he says quickly, keeping his eyes on Akaashi.

Bokuto is frowning faintly, watching Akaashi like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. Kuroo doesn't need to wonder what's going on, however. He knows exactly what Akaashi is talking about, and the knowledge pushes his heart further down, dropping it to his feet where it lands bruised and aching.

Kenta bonded their auras after a year of working together; it was the same night Kuroo confessed his feelings to the young witch. He remembers the pulse of heat against his skin, the way Kenta's aura seemed to engulf him completely, the sense of union he felt. It's an intimate thing: aura bonding. Something usually reserved for couples. Most first attempts end in failure. It takes some couples weeks or even months of practice with careful touches before they're able to successfully bond.

For him and Kenta it took a single night. Their connection had already been that strong.

He wonders how Akaashi and Kenma bonded, what the circumstances were. Something dark and ugly grips his chest, and he wants to know. He wants to demand an explanation, but before he can think of the words to say, Akaashi stands in a single fluid motion.

"He's not far from here. A clearing in the woods. We should hurry. He seems agitated."

They all turn toward the door, but Kuroo's frozen by the couch.

"We?" he asks hesitantly.

Akaashi fixes him with a look. "You can stay here if you'd prefer," he says, and the judgment in his tone is clear. He might not know what happened between Kuroo and Kenma, but Kuroo feels like Akaashi's blaming him just the same.

He swallows hard. "No, I mean . . . no." He shakes his head. "I'm coming with you."

Akaashi nods. "Let's go then."

Yaku and Haiba and Bokuto all fall in beside Akaashi, as he leaves the house, hands tucked into his sleeves once more. Kuroo lags behind, not sure what Kenma is doing in the woods and having a bad feeling about the entire situation. He knows he should probably leave Akaashi to handle things. He doubts Kenma even wants to see him.

But he has to make sure Kenma's okay. If he can help the others ensure Kenma's safety, then it's worth the scolding he may receive later.

The sky opens up as they draw near to the trees on the outskirts of the town. A light rain falls, though the thunder in the distance warns the company of the impending deluge. Kuroo quickens his pace, pulling ahead of Akaashi.

"Kuroo-san, wait!"

Kuroo glances over his shoulder. "He's afraid of thunderstorms. We have to get to him before–" He enters the trees and immediately stumbles, as he's hit with a dark, insidious feeling. His vision turns red, and he can see something deep within the forest, a man standing in a clearing, horns atop his head, arms outstretched. He appears to be chanting something, and Kuroo flinches, as lightning cracks across the sky ahead and the rain pours down heavily.

"Kuroo-san!"

Kuroo blinks rapidly, clearing away the demon vision to focus on Akaashi's pale face in front of him.

"Someone's in the clearing," he gasps, his chest feeling tight. "I think he's trying to open the Hell Mouth."

Akaashi purses his lips, his expression grim. "I know. I can feel the dark magic from here." He glances over at Bokuto, Yaku, and Haiba. "The three of you should leave. I have a bad feeling about what's about to happen."

Yaku and Haiba don't even glance at each other before they're shaking their heads in unison.

"We're not leaving Kozume-kun," Yaku says.

"Especially not in this weather!" Haiba adds, his hair already plastered to his face. He shakes strands out of his eyes, giving Akaashi a faint grin. "We're his best friends too."

Bokuto tilts his head. "You really want me to leave, Akaashi?" he asks softly.

Akaashi grimaces. "You don't know how to use magic. You'll get hurt."

Bokuto shakes his head. "If something's dangerous out there, I'm not going to let you face it alone." He steps forward, taking Akaashi's hand in his own. "Let me help."

Akaashi looks like he wants to argue, but the sick feeling in Kuroo's stomach is growing stronger, and he can tell Akaashi's senses it as well. They don't have time. So he nods, and pulls Bokuto further into the woods. Yaku and Haiba follow suit, and Kuroo brings up the rear, glancing frequently into the shadows of the trees, bracing himself for whatever evil might charge at them.

They come to the clearing, soaked to the skin, mud clinging to their shoes. Kuroo's eyes immediately seek out Kenma. He's standing beside the guy with the horns, his hands held behind his back by another tall young man. His dark eyes appear to be staring into nothing, and on Kenma's other side stands a shorter young man with strawberry blond hair, his expression also blank.

The horned guy is speaking urgently to Kenma, and in the grass beneath his feet there are burns in the shape of kanji.

THE KINGDOM AWAITS ITS KING

Beside him, Akaashi inhales sharply. "They're standing directly on top of the Hell Mouth."

Kuroo's never seen a Hell Mouth, but he knows Akaashi is right.

The horned man seems to sense their presence. He turns, his eyes widening. Kuroo can see one glowing bright red, surrounded by dark markings that travel down the left side of his face and neck. His right eye is brown, framed with long lashes, and Kuroo can tell this guy probably has no trouble looking completely innocent.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice strained, though he smiles.

"Yeah, we came for him." Kuroo steps forward, nodding toward Kenma. He's wearing a white yukata, the hakama blood red. His feet are bare, sinking into the dirt, as it soaks up the rain. His head is bowed, his shoulders hunched forward, and with each flash of lightning and roll of thunder he flinches in the grasp of the young man holding him. Kuroo's chest aches.

"I just need his help with something, and then I'll let him go," the horned boy says (for now Kuroo can tell that he's only a boy, perhaps around Kenma's age). "You should leave before you get hurt."

"We're not going anywhere!" Haiba exclaims.

Kenma lifts his head then, his eyes widening, as he looks upon the small group in front of him.

"Suit yourself," the horned young man says, shrugging. He lifts his hand, beckoning to something in the trees behind him. "Shi-chan, Kyouken-chan, take care of them for me."

Kuroo takes an automatic step back, as a large wolf emerges from the trees, snarling, its eyes glinting red, as the golden fur on its neck rises. Directly beside him walks a young man with an expression similar to the two standing beside Kenma. One hand he has placed in the fur of the wolf, the other holds a sword, slender and sharp.

"Makki," the horned boy says, and the strawberry blond steps away from Kenma, approaching Kuroo.

"And, hm, three against five is hardly fair. Aki-chan~"

Another figure steps out from the shadows of the trees. His expression is different from the others. His dark eyes seem to pierce straight through Kuroo, his expression flat but determined, lips pursed. He's young, younger than any of them there, practically a child in the scheme of things.

"You'd use children to achieve your agenda?" Kuroo snaps irritably, turning his gaze onto the young man in front of him.

"I'm Oikawa Tooru," the horned boy says, his crimson eye flashing. "Rightful heir to the throne of Hell. I'm taking my birthright, and if you plan on stopping me, my soldiers will deal with you without mercy."

"But you can't take anything by yourself, can you?" Kuroo asks. "That's why you need him." He nods to Kenma. "Your magic isn't strong enough to open the Hell Mouth alone."

The four Oikawa called Shi-chan, Kyouken-chan, Makki, and Aki-chan slowly begin to advance on the group. The wolf growls, and Haiba inhales sharply in fear. Kuroo can hear Yaku's murmur of reassurance. Oikawa's smile tightens. "Do you really wish to test my strength, demon?"

Kuroo grits his teeth, barely holding back a snarl of his own. "Bring it on, ugly. I fought my way out of Hell over six hundred years. Defeating you will be a piece of cake."

Oikawa smirks, stepping closer. Kuroo can feel the magic crackling around him, bright and powerful. He stands his ground, not about to back down, not when this guy remains between him and Kenma.

"Go on Kuroo-san, we'll take care of the rest," Akaashi calls from behind him.

Kuroo's not sure how, seeing as they have no weapons, but he decides to trust Akaashi, not really having any other choice. The wolf attacks, followed by Shi-chan, wielding his sword. Makki draws a sword of his own from a sheath at his hip, while Aki-chan pulls two knives out from behind his back, twirling them in each hand. Kuroo can sense the magic behind him, a wave of energy rushing between the three users. He's not sure what Bokuto can do, and he hopes he at least stays out of the fight.

He doesn't have time to glance over his shoulder to check on his friend. A blast of crimson light fires from Oikawa's palm, and Kuroo quickly drops to one knee, pulling his own magic around him as a shield. Once the red dissipates, he jumps to his feet, rushing Oikawa with a shout, throwing a punch with as much magic built up behind the blow as he can manage. Oikawa grabs his fist, absorbing the shock of the hit easily.

"You didn't even bring a weapon?" he asks, tilting his head. He tsks, shoving Kuroo back, as he draws out a sword from the sheath at his side. "How amateur."

Kuroo curses under his breath.

_Come on, help me out here!_

_[you're so troublesome. first you neglect my advice and now you're asking me for my help?]_

Kuroo dodges a swipe from the sword, hopping back a step and gritting his teeth.

 _Lend me your power, demon! Or we'll_ both _be killed._

That seems to convince the whisper, because Kuroo feels a rush of power that leaves his fingertips tingling. He curls one hand into a fist and visualizes a broadsword. Rain stings his face, flattening his hair, but he flicks it out of his eyes and focuses. Within a few seconds, the sword is in his hand, glowing with a faint red aura, but solid and real.

Oikawa nods appreciatively. "Not bad," he offers.

"I know a few tricks," Kuroo replies, forcing a grin, glad for the rain masking the sweat trickling past his temples. It's been a long time since he's conjured a physical object. He can hear the sounds of the fight behind him, Haiba's voice shouting spells, Akaashi's calls to Bokuto warning him of attacks. He tries to tune all this out, however, he tries to focus on the enemy before him.

The one standing between him and Kenma.

He makes the first move, striking out against Oikawa. Oikawa quickly counters, and when their swords meet, the clash sends a reverberation up Kuroo's arm so strong he nearly loses his grip. He wasn't expecting that amount of force. He adjusts his stance, pushing harder against Oikawa until he's able to twist his wrist and spin his sword away.

His feet slide in the slick grass and mud, making it difficult to keep his footing as Oikawa advances. The air seems to sizzle with the amount of magic being used, and the electricity in the air from the storm only seems to heighten that sensation. The earth tremors beneath their feet, and Oikawa stumbles. Kuroo leaps forward, sword raised, but Oikawa neatly ducks beneath his swing, spinning around and kicking him hard in the back. Kuroo falls forward, catching himself on one hand, before quickly rolling away. Oikawa's blade lands in the mud where his head was, and while Kuroo jumps to his feet, Oikawa yanks it free.

Kuroo pushes his hair out of his eyes, panting. The irritation on Oikawa's face has grown darker, and there's not much left resembling a human expression on his face. It's honestly terrifying, but Kuroo keeps his wits about him, parrying each thrust of Oikawa's sword, keeping his footing as best he can, and striking back when he sees an opening.

He's not sure how long they go around like this. The noise around them seems to cancel itself out, and there's a rushing in his ears. He can't see Kenma, he has no idea if Bokuto is safe, all he can do is fight the half-demon in front of him until his arms begin to ache, and his legs start to tremble. It's been a while since he's fought like this, and Oikawa only seems to be getting stronger.

_[you're not going to last. we need to get away.]_

Kuroo grits his teeth. _Not without Kenma._

_[you're going to die.]_

_Then give me more!_

There's a rush of heat through his body, and for a moment he doesn't feel the strain in his muscles, he feels nothing at all, and he charges forward with a yell, swinging his sword with all his strength. It lands heavily against Oikawa's, and he's able to force the half-demon onto one knee. He can't revel in victory just yet, however, for Oikawa's leg moves again, hitting hard against the side of his weary calves, knocking him over.

He lies in the mud, panting, the rain hitting his face like sharp nettles. Oikawa rises above him, mud clinging to his pants and jacket. He wipes water from his face with the back of his arm, setting the point of his sword against Kuroo's throat.

"Any last words?" Oikawa asks around a tight smile.

Kuroo stares up at him, lungs burning. The sword in his hand disintegrates into red smoke, which is whisked away by the wind. He can feel exhaustion in every part of his body. But he can't give up yet. He glances to the side, eyes searching for Kenma. He sees him standing where he was before, arms still pinned behind him by the young man beside him. Kenma's head is bowed, eyes closed. Kuroo wonders if he's ashamed of him.

Some protector he turned out to be.

"Don't hurt him." He looks back at Oikawa, swallowing hard and feeling the tip of the blade scrape against his neck. "Please."

Oikawa blinks, some of the malice melting from his expression. "I have no intention of hurting him."

Kuroo feels relief weaken his limbs further. He nods, closing his eyes, accepting his fate, wondering if perhaps he'll be free of the demon this time, or if he'll be sent back to Hell along with it once more.

Then a soft voice speaks over the noise of those still fighting, over the thunder and the rain and the wind. It carries across the air clearly, brimming with magic of its own.

"Tooru."

Oikawa starts, raising his gaze to look over at Kenma. Kuroo turns his head once more, his eyes widening as he sees Kenma standing where he was before, only his eyes are open now and they're _glowing_. Bright gold shimmers around him and burns within the amber of his eyes.

"Let him go."

Kenma speaks calmly, eyes fixed on the young man standing above Kuroo. For a moment it seems to work. Oikawa's sword hand lowers slowly, as a dazed look enters his eyes. Then with a snap he returns to himself, shaking his head quickly. Kneeling in the mud, he grabs Kuroo's hair, wrenching him into a seated position and placing his sword against his neck once more.

"Tell me your given name, and I won't kill him."

Oikawa's voice is low in Kuroo's ear, but he doesn't seem to need to speak louder. Kenma's eyes widen, and Kuroo quickly shakes his head.

"Don't. My life isn't worth it. Don't help him destroy Japan."

"I'm not trying to destroy it!" Oikawa snaps, and his grip in Kuroo's hair tightens. "I'm trying to _save_ it."

Kenma wets his lips with his tongue, and Kuroo feels his chest tighten. He shifts forward, straining against Oikawa's grasp, but the half-demon yanks him back, and presses his blade harder against his throat.

"Your _name_ , Kozume!"

Kuroo feels a sting of pain, the sensation of warmth sliding down his skin, merging with the water already there. Kenma's expression tightens.

Desperation rises in Kuroo, and though he can't move, he sends his voice toward Kenma, shouting to be heard over the cacophony around them. " _Don't!_ "

But it's too late. Kenma's already opening his mouth, already speaking into the storm, into the thunder and lightning and the sounds of shouts and magic.

Oikawa releases him, and Kuroo falls forward, gripping the softened dirt beneath him with a grimace.

This isn't what's supposed to happen.

He's supposed to _save_ Kenma.

Something round and hard smacks the back of his head, knocking him into the mud. Pain flares across his skull, all sound merging to a loud ringing in his ears. His vision goes black, and the last thing he hears above the ring is Oikawa's voice, purring in satisfaction.

"Kenma."

 

***

 

Oikawa has many regrets. He's sure he'll have many more. But this isn't going to be one of them. He's going to emerge victorious from this situation. He's going to attain his goals, protect Japan and his friends.

Protect Hajime.

He steps over the man at his feet, sheathing his sword and approaching Kenma. He can see the anger in the other's eyes, and the heat of his gaze sends a shiver down his spine.

"Don't worry," he assures the boy. "I didn't kill him. He'll awake with a nasty headache, but he'll be fine. Mattsun, you can let him go now."

He holds his hand out to Kenma. Kenma steps away from Mattsun but avoids his hand. He looks down at the man lying unconscious in the mud, and Oikawa can tell he wants to go to him.

"You know he has a demon inside him, don't you?" he asks, wondering if Kenma really still cares about the man knowing this.

Kenma glances sharply at him. "I know."

"And you still gave up your name for him?"

Kenma blinks slowly, and Oikawa figures that _was_ a pretty stupid question.

He steps into the very center of the clearing, beckoning Kenma to stand in front of him. "All I need is your magic to make mine stronger. Then I'll speak the incantation, take care of my father, and we'll both be home in time for supper!" He says this cheerily, plastering on his best smile, but Kenma simply frowns.

"The spell you placed on your friends will break once we start. You know that, right?" Kenma's voice is calm, flat, and Oikawa feels as though a cold hand has reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

"Yes, I know that," he says irritably, not wanting to dwell on it. "But it's just as well, because imps will most likely come out of the Hell Mouth, and they'll need to be able to defend themselves."

"You don't care that they'll probably hate you for this?"

Oikawa claps his hands together before shaking them back and forth in front of him. "Less talking, more magicing." He offers his hands, palms out, and Kenma slowly places his palms against his.

Immediately he stiffens. Oikawa flinches at the level gaze placed upon him.

"You're afraid," Kenma says, and his eyes seem to stare straight through Oikawa. "Your aura is agitated. You're worried; scared. Why–"

Oikawa squeezes Kenma's hands tightly, cutting him off. "I didn't bring you out here to analyze me. Let's just do this, okay? Then you and your friends can go home."

Kenma frowns faintly then nods. He closes his eyes, and Oikawa can feel rather than see the magic flowing out of him.

He inhales shakily, not having expected this much power. He has to struggle to contain it, and he can feel his grasp on the mind control slipping. The sounds of the fight fall away, as Makki and Mattsun and the rest wake. He can hear their startled yelps, the shouts of "what the hell, Oikawa?!" But he can't focus on them.

He keeps his gaze fixed on Kenma. The air around them vibrates, as a veil of shimmering gold encases them. He can no longer feel the rain against his skin, and soon all noise fades as well, until he and Kenma are standing in a bubble of magic, growing denser by the moment. Inhaling shakily, he begins to chant the incantation, remembering to add Kenma's name to the phrases the book said to use the magic user's given name. Oikawa pushes his own magic against Kenma's, and soon it manifests in jagged bolts of crimson crackling in the golden sphere.

Kenma shudders, lips parting as a grimace of pain darkens his brow momentarily. Oikawa resists the urge to apologize, knowing he can't break the chant or he'll risk the magic blowing up in their faces. Slowly, Kenma's eyes open, and the pupils and irises have turned gold, swirling spirals of magic caught in the glass of his eyes. Oikawa shivers, tightening his grip on Kenma's hands.

The ground tremors beneath them, and slowly he lowers their hands to point their fingers toward the ground. He speaks the last phrase of the incantation and all the magic that'd been gathered condenses into a ball, hovering just beneath their hands. He pushes down, and the ball crashes into the earth between their feet with a blast strong enough to knock both of them backwards.

The ground splinters, a crack tearing through dirt and grass, and everyone stumbles as a giant fissure opens, glowing red and orange. Before Oikawa can get to his feet, he hears the shrieks of imps. He barely has time to cover his face before they're flying out of the crevice in droves, flapping their wings and grinning hideously. He waits until most of them have passed before moving to stand.

"Oikawa! What did you _do_?"

He hears the incredulous shout behind him and turns, just in time to see a group of uniformed men and women burst from the trees, carrying weapons and shouting war cries. They engage the imps immediately, and through the hair plastered on his forehead, Oikawa can see the DHS symbol on the backs of their jackets. He bites his lip, hoping they're able to take care of the imps alone, as he turns back to the chasm beside him.

After the imps come creatures even more grotesque. With horns and twisted smiles, naked and covered in fur and scales, they crawl out with claws black as tar. Oikawa freezes in place, eyes widening, but they barely glance at him before moving on, joining the mass of imps. Oikawa's heart pounds rapidly in his chest, his mouth dry. He finds his hands are shaking and curls them into fists. Noise from the battle assaults him, accompanied by crashes of the thunder and the howl of the wind.

He knows he should turn around and help his friends, but his eyes are fixed on the yawning mouth before him, searching. He has no idea what his father looks like, but he feels like he'll know when he sees him . . .

"OIKAWA!"

Oikawa's heart stutters out of rhythm. Instinctively, he curls his fingers around the hilt of his sword at his side, knowing before he even turns around to expect an attack. He closes his eyes briefly, inhaling slowly and exhaling, before turning to face the young man storming towards him, face red, teeth clenched, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"What the actual fuck, Oikawa?!" Hajime practically roars these words, as he reaches for Oikawa's shirt and gathers the material in his fist. "What the hell were you _thinking_?!"

Oikawa swallows hard, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes burn, looking into those dark eyes in front of him. Despite the anger on his face, the look in Hajime's eyes reflects betrayal. He's hurt, Oikawa can't blame him for feeling that way, and his own chest aches at the sight of it.

"I-Iwa-chan," he starts, not entirely sure how to begin explaining.

"Shut up," Hajime snaps, shoving Oikawa away from him. "I don't want to hear excuses. Stop this madness right now, and get your ass home!"

Oikawa swallows hard. He can see Hajime's crossbow strapped to his back. At his side is a broadsword, and on his other hip is a pistol in its holster. He prepared himself for a fight. That was good, at least.

"I can't," he says quietly, resisting the urge to reach out and brush Hajime's wet hair off his forehead. "I have to face him. I have to take his power. It's to protect Japan, Iwa-chan! He was likely going to attack anyway! This way, I have the upper-hand. _I_ set the stage for our confrontation, _not_ him!"

"By yourself? You couldn't even let me stand by your side to do this?" The anger is back, Hajime's expression dark, his words holding a bite that causes Oikawa to flinch.

"I couldn't risk it."

"I know how to fight. We've trained together for years."

"I know–"

"I thought I was your best friend! You said I was your knight!"

"You _are_."

"Then why did you do it? Why did you leave me behind?!"

Oikawa throws his hands in the air, exasperation and despair merging together inside him, tightening his chest in a vice-like grip until tears burn the corners of his eyes.

" _I can't lose you!_ "

The ground heaves beneath his feet; Hajime stumbles back. Oikawa rocks forward, catching himself before he can fall into him. He turns, eyes wide, as a giant, horned figure rises from the Hell Mouth. It's covered in writhing black smoke, and when it steps forward, Oikawa sees a dark cloven hoof just before it disappears, replaced by a normal human foot. He lifts his gaze, as the smoke slips away, revealing a tall man, taller than Oikawa, with brown hair and wide brown eyes much like Oikawa's own. He appears to be in his forties, with laugh lines around his lips and wrinkles near his eyes. When he smiles, a dimple appears in his cheek, and his teeth sparkle.

"Tooru," he says, lifting his arms to the side as though he's expecting a hug. "It's good to see you."

Oikawa stares. Beside him, Hajime shifts uneasily, hand moving to the hilt of his sword. Swallowing hard, Oikawa licks his lips, doing his best to keep his voice from trembling as he replies,

"Father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	15. long live the king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is much shorter than the previous and i'm sorry for any possible errors. i've had a migraine all day so my editing might not've been the best.
> 
> (please remember the temporary character death tag . . . emphasis on the temporary)
> 
> okay let's finish this thing

 

 

 

all endings are also beginnings.  
we just don't know it at the time.

\--mitch albom, _the five people you meet in heaven_

* * *

 

 

Kenma's ears are ringing. When the magic tore through the earth and knocked him onto his back, all his senses went blank for a moment. His vision went dark, and he felt as though he was falling into a void. Just as quickly though, he snaps back to reality, static in his ears. He sits up slowly, taking in the chaos around him. Scores of imps are pouring out of the Hell Mouth, shrieking and flapping their wings.

Kenma brushes his wet hair out of his eyes, quickly scanning the ground for Kuroo. He spots him, lying in the mud, but the imps don’t seem to notice. Those that can't lift themselves into the crowded air hop along the ground, claws extended. One gets close enough to Kuroo to scratch his shoulder, and Kenma's gut clenches.

_Tetsurou . . ._

Before he can even complete the thought, he's scrambling across the mud to get to him. He crouches over Kuroo's prone form, reaching inside for his magic to shield him. Nothing happens. Kenma frowns, concentrating, but the magic slips away like wisps of smoke between his fingers. He's too weak. Opening the Hell Mouth took up too much of his energy.

Realizing there's nothing more he can do, Kenma covers Kuroo with his own body, tucking his face into the back of Kuroo's neck, protecting his head and chest as best he can. The shrieks are louder here, in the thick of the mob, and he can feel the air moving from the wings, feel the scrape of scrambling claws against his back. They tear at his clothes, ripping into his skin. He swallows back a yelp of pain and shuts his eyes, gripping Kuroo tighter.

"Kozume-kun!"

Kenma lifts his head, squinting through the rain to see Keiji, Bokuto, Mori, and Lev hurrying through the swarm of imps toward him. Mori and Lev make a path for them with bursts of white light from their palms, scorching the imps in their way and forcing them back. Kenma notices Lev is limping, and Bokuto is bleeding from a wound in his side.

"You're hurt!" Mori exclaims as they draw close. He quickly drops to his knees, hands hovering over Kenma's back.

"We have to get out of here," Keiji says, his voice grim. "Bokuto-san is hurt, and the Demon Hunting Syndicate is here. Our assistance here is no longer required."

Kenma looks down at Kuroo. "What about him?"

Keiji purses his lips. "I can't carry him, and Haiba-kun is in no shape to carry him either."

"I'm not leaving him."

"I could use my levitation spell!" Lev exclaims, his face pale and his grin weak.

"I can't take care of these imps by myself," Mori says with a frown. He turns to blast another one away as it draws too close, before turning to look at Kenma. "I'm sorry, but we might have to just drag him away from the fight and come back for him later."

Kenma shakes his head. "No."

Keiji looks torn. "Kozume-kun . . . you're injured, and you need rest. Please, come with us."

Kenma just shakes his head again, expression tight.

Keiji flinches, barely perceptible to anyone aside from Kenma, but then he nods. "Very well. I'm taking Bokuto-san away from here. He needs to be treated."

"We'll stay and fight beside him," Mori says, moving to stand swiftly. "Haiba, how is your leg?"

Lev tests it gingerly. "It barely hurts, Yaku-san! It's just a flesh wound. I can still fight!"

Mori nods to Keiji, who purses his lips before nodding in return. "If you could clear a path," he prompts then.

Mori and Lev stand side by side, and on Mori's count they blast away the imps closest to them, creating a hole in the swarm large enough for Keiji to hurry through with Bokuto. The imps shriek, but a shout at the edge of the clearing causes them to turn, surging toward the newcomers. Men and women with black jackets stitched with the symbol of the DHS leap into the fray, and the noise around them grows almost deafening.

Mori and Lev fight to keep the demons and imps away. Lev's style is loud, full of grand gestures and shouts. While the enemy is distracted by his presence, Mori slips in, quick and quiet, firing off his spells faster than the demons can react at such close range they're unable to block them. Kenma kneels beside Kuroo, fingers curled into his hakama. The white of the yukata has since been stained with mud, and his back stings from the scratches the imp claws left on him. He ignores all these things, however, staring into Kuroo's face, waiting anxiously for him to wake or for his magic to return, whichever came first.

Kenma glances up when the ground shakes once more, and a demon, bigger than any of the previous ones, steps out of the Hell Mouth. It's shrouded in black smoke, but as Kenma watches, the smoke drifts away, revealing a man who resembles Oikawa so well it has to be his father. Kenma inhales sharply, and beside him, Kuroo stirs.

Instantly, Kenma's attention diverts to Kuroo, and he leans over him despite the pain in his back. "Kuroo."

Slowly, Kuroo opens his eyes, groaning. He blinks up at Kenma, and Kenma holds his breath, unable to help but wonder who it is Kuroo sees.

"Kenma," he breathes softly, and his hand moves to touch Kenma's cheek. "A-are you okay?"

Kenma's breath leaves him with a _whoosh_. He nods quickly. "Your head . . ." He reaches for the back of Kuroo's skull, but Kuroo brushes him away, moving to sit up with a faint grimace.

"I'm fine," he says, before glancing around with a faint frown. "Well. This place has gone to shit."

Lev turns then, eyes widening as he notices Kuroo sitting up. "Kuroo-san! You're awake!"

"Haiba! Pay attention!" Mori snaps, jumping in to obliterate an imp before it can latch onto Lev.

"Sorry, sorry!" Lev turns back to the fight, and Kenma grabs Kuroo's wrist.

"I need your magic. I'm too weak to close it myself. Will you help me?"

Kuroo blinks at him. "You want my help?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

Kenma nods, moving his hand from Kuroo's wrist down to take his hand. Whatever bad feelings he harbored toward the man before, he's set them aside for now. He can't focus on what happened between them. He has to close the Hell Mouth before worse creatures emerge and destroy his home. Their home.

And besides, it's not like he really blames Kuroo for what happened. He's angrier at himself for allowing it to happen in the first place when neither of them was ready for it.

"Please," he says quietly. "Lend me your strength."

Kuroo's fingers squeeze around his, and he nods briefly. "Whatever strength I have left is yours. Take it all if you need to."

Kenma hopes it doesn't come to that. He closes his eyes, focusing on the hand in his, on the magic he can feel thrumming through Kuroo's aura. He draws it to him; like he did the night Kuroo first showed him how to use wordless magic. He uses their joined hands as a conduit, feels the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his pulse beneath his fingertips.

After a moment he feels Kuroo shift closer. He picks up his other hand, and Kenma can feel the connection strengthening, as he begins to push his magic into Kenma. There's a slide of warm breath against his cheek, and then a gentle press against his forehead. Kenma doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Kuroo's face is now close to his. He can feel his breath, his warmth, the increased flow of his magic. It's not as strong as Kenma would've liked, but it's strong enough. He can feel it strengthening his own. He presses his forehead back again Kuroo's.

For a brief moment he contemplates reaching out for Kuroo's aura, of testing their relationship through the aura bonding ritual. But he knows this isn't the right time, it's not the right place, and he's unsure if that's something Kuroo even wants.

So he concentrates on the flow of magic, tuning out everything around him, even though his heart pounds with worry for his friends still fighting. He knows he can't help them, can't help anyone, until he's strong enough.

He's so focused that he doesn't realize what's happening at the Hell Mouth, he doesn't see what happens, doesn't hear the cry of rage mixed with indescribable pain.

He doesn't see the moment that changes everything.

 

***

 

Oikawa stares at his father, not sure what to say. The man who is not a man stands before him, arms still outstretched, waiting. The battle continues around them, shouts and shrieks and screams of pain, but Oikawa can't tear away his gaze. Beside him, Hajime shifts closer, a protective stance. It's almost laughable considering there's no way a single man without magic could face off against the King of Hell.

His father doesn’t seem to notice Hajime at first, a small mercy perhaps. His eyes are fixed on Oikawa's face, and he takes a step closer, moving one hand up toward Oikawa's face. Oikawa flinches back, frowning. His father stops, lowering his hand but maintaining his smile.

"You've grown so much since the last time I saw you."

Oikawa's frown deepens. "You've seen me before?"

"I used to visit when you were just a baby. You wouldn't remember; it was so long ago. When your horns and fangs grew in . . . well, your mother realized what I was and told me not to come around anymore." His father shrugs, his voice holding a note of resignation.

"I'm surprised you honored her wishes," Oikawa says tightly, raising his chin. He's not sure how he feels in this moment. It's strange, looking into the eyes of a man who resembles him so much yet he knows it's not his true form. His chest aches. He knows this man is a demon. He knows he's caused him years of suffering through nightmares. He knows that he forced him to use his friends to prevent a worse catastrophe.

But at the same time, this is his father. The one figure he never had in his life. Growing up he often wondered what it would be like to have his father there. Would he help him with his schoolwork? Would he practice volleyball with him in the backyard? Would he cheer him on in his dream of becoming a world-class Demon Hunter?

"I may be a demon, but I understand courtesy. Besides, your mother knows quite a few spells to keep me away. I didn't want to try and test her." His father smiles, opening his arms again. "I came to you in your dreams instead. Surely you remember those. You always seemed so frightened of me. But look at you now. You're a man, standing here unafraid, ready to take your birthright; to rule by my side the way you know deep down you were always meant to. I helped you become the man you are today, Tooru. I hope you realize that. I'm so proud."

Hajime growls low in his throat. "Fuck that," he says, and Oikawa glances at him in surprise. Noticing his scowl, the way his hand is flexing on the hilt of his sword, Oikawa reaches out to touch his shoulder lightly.

"Iwa-chan–"

Hajime shrugs off his hand. "You think he's here to stand beside you? He never wanted to be the prince of the underworld or whatever bullshit this is. He doesn't want anything to do with you. You tormented him for _years_. You gave him nightmares, terrified him, made him doubt his humanity. He's not afraid now because he grew stronger in _spite_ of you. He's a hunter, the best hunter at Aoba Johsai, and he's going to destroy you."

Oikawa swallows hard, eyes fixated on his friend's profile, on the hard lines of his jaw and cheek. His dark eyes are flashing fire and the intensity of his aura crests over Oikawa like a wave. He inhales shakily, unable to keep from smiling faintly then.

This beautiful man is his best friend. Oikawa feels lucky. He feels more than that. But before he can say anything, his father barks out a harsh laugh.

"What a naïve little boy you are," his father says with a faint smirk. He turns to Oikawa then, eyebrow raised. "Is this the human who has tried to keep you from me all these years? I recognize his voice. He's called you out of our meetings before." The smirk disappears, replaced with irritation. The brown of his eyes turns red, glowing. "I will take care of this chain holding you back."

Lifting his hand toward Hajime, he flexes his fingers once, and Hajime flies forward, feet off the ground, to land in the demon's grasp. Oikawa's father squeezes his hand around Hajime's throat, and although Hajime squirms in the air his arms remain frozen by his side, unable to move.

Oikawa's stomach twists, and a cold hand grips his insides like a vice, squeezing. "Let him go," he says sharply, drawing his sword.

Hajime's face is turning red. Oikawa knows he should step forward and drive his sword through his father's chest. He has enough magic left to make it count. To either kill or wound him enough to render him helpless. But he can't make his feet move forward. He's never killed anyone that looked human before. And some part of him whispers, _this is your father. your father. your father_ . . .

"Hmm, you're right." The demon lowers Hajime to the ground but doesn’t release him just yet. Instead, he regards Oikawa with an appraising gaze before nodding. "You should take care of your own obstacles."

Before Oikawa can react, before he can do _anything_ , his father shoves Hajime forward, directly onto the sharp blade of Oikawa's sword. Oikawa's eyes widen slowly, as he watches his weapon, the object he brought to kill his father, sink into Hajime's chest. Hajime stumbles, blood dribbling from his mouth. He reaches out to grab Oikawa's arm, gripping his bicep as though to steady himself.

Oikawa releases the hilt of his sword with a sharp cry, and Hajime drops to his knees.

" _No_! No, Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan, I didn't mean to! I didn't . . ." Oikawa falls to the mud in front of him, reaching out to grab Hajime's shoulders and steady him. "No, please. Don't . . . you can't die! _I can't lose you!_ " His voice breaks, vision blurring. His heart feels like it's been dug out of his chest with a shovel, every piece of his soul scraped away. He trembles.

Hajime lifts his hand once more, using it to clasp the side of Oikawa's face. His breathing is labored, but his gaze is sharp, direct, despite the haze that starts to fall over them. He brings their faces close, pressing his forehead firmly against Oikawa's.

"Give him hell," he mumbles, more blood slipping down his chin. "D-Don't . . . let him win."

Oikawa can feel rather than hear the whimper that escapes his own throat. There's a pounding in his skull, a rushing in his ears, and he watches Hajime fall as though in slow motion, onto his side, as his eyes close, and he breathes a final sigh.

"Iwa-chan." Oikawa's voice is small. It sounds like a child's, but he can do nothing except kneel there in the mud and stare at his best friend's face, motionless. His chest feels hollow, his mind splintered.

"Tooru," his father's voice speaks above him, calm and placid. "It was for the best. He wouldn't have been able to follow you into your kingdom anyway."

Oikawa lifts his gaze slowly, fixing his eyes on the face of the demon standing before him. He can feel the rage burning a fire low in his stomach and it surges upward, sparking in bolts of red across his skin. With a roar that rattles his bones, renders his throat raw and carries with it all his fury and pain, he leaps to his feet in a single bound. He stretches his hand to the side and instantly his magic rushes to it, conjuring a second sword, this one blazing with a crimson aura, searing to the touch. It doesn't bother him, though, for his hands and arms have already armored themselves with those hard, black scales.

" _NO!_ " The word tears through him, as he slashes down at his father. The demon leaps back, avoiding the blow, but Oikawa doesn't give it time to recover. He swings back upward, and the demon has to cross its forearms over its face to block. Its skin grows black like Oikawa's, an armor that withstands the blade. The demon shoves Oikawa away, and as Oikawa stumbles back, the demon conjures a sword of its own.

"Bring him back!" Oikawa shouts, not caring about the tears running down his cheeks in earnest. "Bring him back! I know you can!"

He takes another swing, which the demon parries. Sparks fly as the swords clash, and the demon shakes its head.

"And whose soul will you exchange for his? Yours?"

"Yes! Take it! I don't care!" Oikawa pushes back and readjusts, attacking once more with vicious power, throwing all his strength into each blow.

The demon stumbles back under the onslaught, but it laughs at Oikawa's suggestion. "You have only half a soul, Tooru. Demons don't have souls. It's not an equivalent exchange."

"You're the _king_! _Break the rules!_ " Oikawa slams hard against the demon's sword, pressing further, straining, summoning all his magic. The rain continues to fall, and the ground beneath him is slippery, but he plants his feet and shoves with all his might, until the demon starts to yield, wilting beneath Oikawa's fury.

It drops to one knee, but its shoulders continue to shake with laughter. "Perhaps if you joined me and we combined our magic . . . together we could bring him back without the price of another soul." Its voice exudes sincerity, and it stops laughing to give Oikawa a faint smile. "Join me, my son. Take your birthright. Only then will you have the power to get what you want."

Oikawa blinks, gritting his teeth. He doesn't let up on the sword, but he glances at Hajime's form lying on the ground not far from them. He can hear Hajime's voice in his ear, whispering with his final breath.

_"Don't let him win."_

_But Iwa-chan, it's not a victory if you're not by my side._

This wasn't supposed to happen. Things weren't supposed to turn out this way. He left Hajime behind to keep him safe. Oikawa was more than willing to die, but Hajime . . . Hajime is his pillar, his strength, his sanity.

His home.

Closing his eyes, Oikawa can remember how Hajime's lips felt on his skin, the warmth of his breath ghosting over his lips. He can remember how he looked above him, skin damp, glistening in the moonlight from the window, his brow furrowed, lips parted.

Hajime has always been beautiful. Oikawa should've told him that. He should've told him a lot of things.

No, he still will. He still can.

All he has to do is join his father in Hell.

It seems a small price to pay in exchange for Hajime's life.

Oikawa lowers his sword and takes a step back.

_I'm sorry, Hajime. But you need to live._

The demon stands, a satisfied smile lighting its face. "You've made the right decision."

_Forgive me._

 

***

 

Kuroo feels weak. He knows he's probably giving Kenma too much of his magic, but even when Kenma starts to pull away, Kuroo grips his hands tighter, keeping him in place. He has to make up for what he's done. He's made so many mistakes . . .

"Kuroo," Kenma's voice is soft, but he's so close Kuroo can hear him clearly despite the battle sounds crashing around them. "That's enough. You've given enough."

Kuroo shakes his head. "No, I haven't. Kenma, I . . ."

Kenma presses forward, tilting his head in order to brush his lips just slightly against Kuroo's. Kuroo freezes, stunned into silence. Kenma takes advantage of this and wiggles his hands out of Kuroo's grasp, moving to stand. "Do you know the spell to close it?" he asks, glancing toward the fissure in the ground.

Kuroo blinks, trying to gather his thoughts. "Kenta knew," he says slowly. "He told me he memorized it just in case . . ." He looks up at Kenma, blinking past the rainwater that falls into his eyes. "But it'll take a lot of magic."

Kenma purses his lips. "I can do it."

Kuroo moves to stand. For a moment his vision goes black, and he wavers on his feet. Kenma's hand grabs his arm to steady him. Kuroo shakes his head, trying to ignore the sharp pain splitting his skull.

"How can I help?"

"You can leave. Take Yaku-kun and Haiba with you." Kenma's already turning away, taking a step toward the yawning mouth before him. Kuroo sees then the three long abrasions across his back, and he grimaces, wondering if those happened while he was unconscious.

"Kozume-kun!" Yaku turns from his fight, frowning at his friend. There are scratches on his arm, a cut across one cheek from the tip of a wing that got too close. Haiba's limp is more pronounced. But despite these injuries, they turn toward Kenma in unison.

"We're not leaving you," they insist.

Kenma glances back at them. "Protect him." He nods to Kuroo. "I'll be fine."

Haiba shakes his head. "But what if–"

There's a blast of crimson light near the edge of the Hell Mouth. Kenma flinches, and even Kuroo can feel the sickening punch of insidious magic. He turns, remembering Oikawa, and he inhales sharply as he catches sight of him standing in front of an unfamiliar man. He's holding the man's hands, and a red glow has surrounded them. On the ground behind Oikawa lies a young man with a sword in his chest. Kuroo has no idea what they missed or what's currently happening, but he knows they have to stop it.

"Get the spell from Kenta," he tells Kenma quickly.

Kenma's eyes widen. "What are you going to do?"

"Something stupid, probably."

He takes off at a run, stumbling only slightly. The whisper hasn't bothered him yet, and he wonders if it's possible the hit to the head killed it, and Kuroo simply absorbed its power.

_[you're not that lucky.]_

_Damn._

_[be grateful i'm still here. you'll probably need my help again.]_

Kuroo doesn't want to think about how it's right. Instead, he picks his way around fallen DHS members, trying not to look into their faces. The battle that continues is brutal. There seem to be a lot of humans on the ground, but it's difficult to tell if they've made a dent in the demons, and more keep climbing out of the Hell Mouth. He hopes Kenma's able to close it on his own.

"Hey!" he shouts at Oikawa, as he draws nearer. "What the fuck are you doing? You said you wanted to save Japan! I don't know if it was the knock to my head or what, but joining forces with a demon doesn't look like saving it to me."

Oikawa whips his head around to glare at Kuroo. "I'm trying to save Iwa-chan," he snaps, and the demon frowns.

"Focus, Tooru."

Kuroo guesses the young man lying at his feet is Iwa-chan. He crouches in front of the body, checking for a pulse. As soon as his fingers touch the still-warm skin, Oikawa breaks his connection with the demon, running over and shoving Kuroo hard against his shoulders to knock him back.

"Don't touch him!"

"You would sacrifice all of Japan to save one person?" Kuroo asks incredulously, staring up at Oikawa from his place in the mud.

"He's not just one person! He's my Iwa-chan. He's my _everything._ "

Kuroo suddenly understands. This boy . . . this boy is Oikawa's Kenta.

He swallows hard, moving to stand slowly. "Look, I know you're upset. You're heartbroken and full of rage and pain and all you want is to have him back, to hold him again and tell him you love him, but this . . . this isn't the way to do that. We can find another way . . ."

Oikawa's already shaking his head. "This is the only way."

"How do you know? Because _that_ thing told you?" Kuroo nods to the demon scowling behind Oikawa. "What makes you think it wouldn't lie to you? It's a _demon._ "

Oikawa glances over his shoulder and then back down to the young man at his feet. He bites his lip, and Kuroo cautiously takes a step forward. He notices the weapons strapped to Iwa-chan's body, the calluses on his palms and fingers. There's no way he could be anything but a Hunter, perhaps one in training from Aoba Johsai.

"Do you think he would want you joining forces with a demon to save him?" Kuroo asks, gesturing to Iwa-chan, and hoping he didn't just make things worse.

"Son, don't listen to him. This is the only way." The demon behind Oikawa takes a step forward, hand outstretched.

"Or do you think he'd want you to keep fighting? To defeat the demon and protect the citizens of Japan?"

Oikawa continues to stare down at his Iwa-chan, worrying on his lip with his teeth until his fangs pierce the skin, and he starts to bleed. He doesn't seem to notice, but when he lifts his head his eyes are wet with tears.

"He-he told me to fight."

Kuroo kneels down and pulls Iwa-chan's sword from its scabbard at his side. He stands to press it against Oikawa's chest.

"Then fight."

Oikawa wraps his hand around the hilt of the sword, eyes flashing with a renewed fire. Kuroo nods, and puts his hand to the side, focusing on what little magic he has left on conjuring a new sword.

 _[so now we're fighting_ with _the half-demon that nearly killed us?]_

_Yep._

_[wonderful.]_

Oikawa turns with a shout, slashing his blade down across the man's outstretched arm before he can react. It lands on the ground, severed from its body, and the demon roars, dropping its glamor in its pain and towering above them. It's at least 2 meters tall, with horns like a bull and a grimacing mouth full of sharp teeth. Its face is covered with lumpy scales like scabbed skin, and in the midst of these are runes and swirling designs much like those on Oikawa's face and neck.

Its feet are cloven hoofs leading into the legs of a goat, and there's a tail with a barbed tip weaving the air behind it. One of its arms is severed at the elbow, but the other is massive, with black claws in the place of fingernails. Oikawa shudders at the sight, and Kuroo moves to his side.

"We'll take him down together," he assures him. "Kenma's preparing the spell to close the Hell Mouth. If we can't kill him, we can at least force him back into the Mouth."

Oikawa nods, features tight.

The demon laughs, its voice so deep it shakes Kuroo's chest.

"You think you can defeat me? Your magic is weak, even that demon inside you can't give you enough to suppress my own." The demon grins, and lifts his wounded arm. Already sparks of red dance around the stump, knitting the skin back together, and Kuroo can see it extending slowly. Within minutes it'll be healed and the demon will have two arms again. They can't let that happen.

"You forget, Father," Oikawa says scathingly with a small grin. "You just gave me some of your magic, and I believe it's enough to defeat you."

He glances at Kuroo. "Tap into my aura, take what you need, I'll go for his right."

Kuroo nods. "I'll take his left."

"Now!"

They leap apart, both swords swinging. The demon swats at Oikawa with its claw, but Oikawa ducks, slashing his sword upward to create a cut along the inside of the demon's forearm. Kuroo dives under the tail as it tries to impale him, dragging his own blade along the demon's side. It roars in pain, and Kuroo feels a sharp sting across his back, which begins to burn like acid. He cries out sharply.

_[the tail got you. you have a gash from your right shoulder to your left hip. it's shallow, but i don't think i have enough power right now to heal it, not if you want to maintain your sword.]_

Kuroo grits his teeth. _Leave it then. I'll take care of it later._

_[as you wish.]_

Behind him, he can feel a familiar surge of magic, and golden light illuminates the beast in front of him. He doesn't have to turn around to know that it's Kenma, gathering his magic to close the Hell Mouth. He has to focus on forcing the demon back into the crevice before it's sealed. Reaching out, he senses Oikawa's aura. It's more red than gold, sharp and brimming with grief and hatred, not all of it directed toward the demon. It's difficult to access his magic without physical contact, but Kuroo is able to draw enough to him to strengthen his sword.

Rolling between the demon's legs, he hops up and while Oikawa jumps to strike at the demon's head, Kuroo drives his sword into the demon's stomach. It roars and grabs him with its hand, but Kuroo clings to the hilt, pushing it further past the armored skin as best he can.

"Oikawa!" he shouts, feeling the claws dig into his sides, piercing his skin, as the demon tries to yank him off.

The hand releases him, falling away as Oikawa severs it at the wrist. The tail whips around, knocking Oikawa away, but Kuroo shoves his weight against the sword, burrowing it deeper, and finally the demon begins to stumble backwards. Kuroo's back throbs, the wound stinging from his sweat and the rain still falling mercilessly. Oikawa appears at his side, grimacing as he joins Kuroo in pushing the demon closer to the edge of the Hell Mouth.

The demon roars, beating at their heads and shoulders with the stumps of his arms, while its tail cuts across their backs over and over, whipping their skin in sharp lashes.

Oikawa bites his lip, eyes watering. He looks at Kuroo with a grimace, and Kuroo grits his teeth.

"Come on," he says. "We can do this!"

He reaches over, grabbing Oikawa's wrist. He starts at the contact, but Kuroo uses it to draw more of his magic into him, which he in turn uses to sharpen the sword, making it burn hotter, searing the demon from the inside. Its beatings grow more frantic, and Kuroo can feel himself getting lightheaded from the blows and the blood loss, but he continues to push, and Oikawa does as well beside him, until finally they're at the edge of the Hell Mouth.

"Now!" he cries, and both he and Oikawa shove as hard as they can against the demon, before leaping back.

It teeters on the edge, arms flailing, and Oikawa lifts his sword, throwing it like a spear. It hits the demon between the eyes, adding weight and forcing it to fall backwards into the fissure.

"Kenma!" Kuroo shouts, whirling around to find Kenma through the rain. He pushes his hair back, and sees Kenma standing only a few feet away, his golden aura glimmering around him. His hands are outstretched, hovering above the crack in the earth. He's muttering something, eyes glowing, and Yaku and Haiba flank him, standing at the ready, but no demons try to stop him.

Instead, the demons begin to panic, scrambling to the Hell Mouth, as the ground tremors and the crack begins to close. Kuroo staggers toward Kenma, able to see the way his fingers are shaking. Blood seeps from his nose, and his face is pale. He needs more magic, he needs . . .

Kuroo doesn't make it. His legs give out; he falls. Clenching his jaw, he scrambles in the mud, trying to crawl forward, but the ground rumbles again, heaving, knocking him over.

For a moment his vision seems to splinter, and he thinks he sees the transparent figure of Kenta standing where Kenma stands, black hair flying about his face, golden eyes blazing with power. Then he's gone, and Kenma stands alone, brows furrowed in concentration.

The earth groans, and the demons still too far away wail in despair, as the fissure closes, sealing with a wall of golden light emanating from the crack before it too disappears and the ground is whole once more. As it does, the demons left behind disintegrate, unable to maintain their forms. The imps remaining shriek and take to the skies, flying away as quickly as possible. Some are picked off by members of the DHS, but most of them have turned to their fallen and wounded.

Kenma shudders, and Haiba whirls around to catch him, as he starts to collapse. He appears to be fine, simply exhausted, and Kuroo breathes a sigh of relief. He makes eye contact with Yaku, who nods at him.

"We'll get him home," he promises, as Haiba lifts Kenma up into his arms.

Kuroo nods in return, not sure if he should follow or stay away.

Then he remembers Oikawa.

Standing carefully, he staggers a moment before straightening and turning to look for his battle partner. The half-demon has returned to the side of his fallen lover and has gathered him in his arms. He presses his forehead against Iwa-chan's, shoulders trembling, as he weeps. Kuroo can see the bleeding lashes on his back through his torn clothing, but he doubts the boy can feel the pain of them right now.

Cautiously, he makes his way over, lowering himself into the mud beside Oikawa with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he says after a moment, not sure what else to say.

Oikawa doesn't reply.

Hesitantly, Kuroo lifts his hand to rest it on Oikawa's shoulder. The boy doesn't acknowledge him, but he doesn't pull away either.

"Here, let me . . ." Kuroo reaches out with his other hand, grasping the hilt of the sword still buried within Iwa-chan's chest. He draws it out carefully, setting it aside in the grass, and Oikawa presses the body closer to his chest as soon as it's gone.

The rain begins to ease, the clouds finally drifting away to reveal the sun. It shines down on the clearing, illuminating those fallen and weary. The DHS members all look grim, as they talk amongst themselves and begin to move their wounded and dead. Kuroo feels like he should help, but he can't get his legs to move. He's exhausted.

"Oikawa . . ."

Kuroo looks up and sees the two young men who stood by Oikawa's side before. Makki and Mattsun. They look none the worse for wear after fighting in a battle. They're muddied, clothes torn, but appear to be mostly uninjured.

Oikawa lifts his head, turning watery eyes onto his friends and immediately his face breaks again. "I'm sorry," he gasps. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Makki kneels beside Oikawa, wrapping his arm around his shoulder gently and pulling him close. Mattsun sinks to his knees in front of the three, head bowed, fingers curling into fists on his thighs. He reaches over then, taking Iwa-chan's hand and carefully setting it on his fallen friend's chest, fingers lingering.

"Shi-chan and Kyouken-chan?" Oikawa murmurs after a moment.

"They're fine. They fought beside us, but when the Hell Mouth closed they took off before the DHS could realize what Kyoutani is." Makki exchanges a look with Mattsun.

"Kunimi-kun?"

"We sent him away as soon as the demons arrived," Matsun says, his voice low.

Oikawa nods, eyes closing. "Good, good. That's . . . thank you."

"Oikawa," Makki says, his voice urgent, "you need to leave. Once the DHS is finished cleaning up they're going to come looking for the half-demon that did this. They're going to imprison you, maybe even kill you. You have to get away."

Oikawa's eyes open, and he gives his friends a dead-eyed look that Kuroo knows well. He feels it like a punch to his stomach, and his chest aches as Oikawa answers.

"Why?"

Makki frowns. "Seriously?"

"What's the point? Iwa-chan . . ." He looks down at the young man in his arms, reaching up to stroke the no doubt cold cheek.

"Iwaizumi wouldn't want you to just give up and die. He'd want you to keep living," Mattsun says, his voice thick with emotion.

Makki nods, swallowing hard. "We'll take care of everything, Oikawa. Just go."

Oikawa blinks slowly. "Why don't you hate me? You should hate me."

"We love you, idiot. You made a real dumbass move, but you're our best friend." Makki presses his forehead against Oikawa's head briefly before leaning back and giving him a gentle shake. "Now _go_."

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but I think I can be of some assistance."

The four look up simultaneously to stare at the newcomer. It's a young man, in his early twenties perhaps, and though the rain has only just stopped, his clothes are completely dry and spotless. He's wearing a yukata of a pale blue, and his hakama is white with bright flowers covering it. His hair is a silvery ash-blond, and his hazel eyes shine sympathetically down at Oikawa.

"Who are you?" Oikawa asks warily.

_A new kind of demon?_

But Kuroo doesn't have same sickening feeling in his stomach that he's come to associate with demons. Instead, his chest feels lighter, despite his current situation, like he's looking at a physical manifestation of hope.

"My name is Sugawara Koushi," the young man says, moving to crouch in front of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, beside Mattsun. "I've been watching you for some time, both of you." His gaze flickers to Iwaizumi before returning to Oikawa. "I'm impressed with your loyalty and dedication to one another. This wasn't his time to go. I can bring him back, if you will let me."

Oikawa's eyes widen. "You can?"

Makki frowns faintly. "Hang on; what do you want in exchange?"

Sugawara smiles. "I need your help, Oikawa Tooru. Yours and his. My kingdom is on the verge of war with our sister nation. I'd like you both to fight for us." He turns his gaze onto Kuroo, and Kuroo starts in surprise at the intensity of it. "My captain is already speaking with your friend Kozume Kenma, asking him the same. We don't have many resources, not enough to protect our kingdom. We need help."

He turns back to Oikawa. "I can guarantee Iwaizumi's safe return to you; he'll be exactly the same as before, with no price of a soul. In exchange, will you help us?"

Oikawa bites his lip, only hesitating briefly before nodding.

Makki's frown deepens. "Hey, hang on, Oikawa . . ."

But Sugawara is already reaching forward, placing one hand on Iwaizumi's forehead, the other over his heart. He closes his eyes, and Kuroo's heart stutters, as he watches Sugawara's aura manifest. It's bright gold and sparks of every single color dance within it. It seems familiar to Kuroo, though he can't quite place it.

Oikawa gasps, as Sugawara's magic flows from his hands, encasing Iwaizumi in a cocoon of shimmering gold. As they watch, the wound closes and the color returns to Iwaizumi's face. He inhales suddenly, taking a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes, the three huddled around him jolt in surprise, mouths agape.

Iwaizumi stares back at them, wetting his lips with his tongue. "What are you all staring at?" he croaks out after a moment. "Haven't you seen a dead man come back to life before?" His lips quirk in a faint smile, and then he's lost beneath a jumbled heap of bodies as his friends accost him, grabbing him in a group hug, shouting his name.

Sugawara smiles gently, moving to stand. He glances at Kuroo before offering his hand. Kuroo takes it and uses it to pull himself to his feet before letting it go with a nod.

"Thanks."

Sugawara tilts his head, studying him. "I can heal your wounds too, if you'd like."

Kuroo shakes his head. "They're my penance," he says, and Sugawara's smile grows sad.

"You're welcome to join us. My men could learn a thing or two from you."

"I don't know if Kenma will want me there."

Sugawara's smile widens. "He will."

Kuroo's not convinced, but before he can ask how he knows that, the four on the ground break apart and stand, each wearing a ridiculous smile on his face. Iwaizumi steps forward slightly, though Oikawa continues to cling to him, arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. Iwaizumi keeps one arm around him, while the other extends toward Sugawara.

"Thank you," he says genuinely, and Kuroo decides he likes him already.

Sugawara grins, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "It's my pleasure."

"What are you? You don't seem like a demon," Makki asks, his grin melting away into suspicion.

"That's because I'm not a demon," Sugawara says, as though that should've been apparent.

The others exchange puzzled glances. Sugawara laughs and lifts his arms to the side.

"You mean you can't tell? I'm a faerie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that concludes the first arc! there's going to be one more chapter with the side pairings to wrap up some loose ends, and then we'll be off into the second arc with Karasuno and Shiratorizawa!
> 
> http://shion-heart.tumblr.com/


	16. turning, turning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but this wraps up the first arc!
> 
> enjoy!

 

 

 

life is about not knowing, having to change,  
taking the moment and making the best of it,  
without knowing what's going to happen next.

\--gilda radner

* * *

 

 

The forest seems eerily silent, as the last of the DHS file out of the clearing. Two break away from the group, approaching Hanamaki and Issei, standing where they were when Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and the faerie left them. Hanamaki's still reeling from the events that just occurred, so he doesn't hear the man's question when he first asks it.

"Sorry, what?" Hanamaki glances at Issei, who nudged him, before looking back at the DHS member in front of him.

He's wearing a patch on his jacket that marks him as a captain of a squadron, and beside him looms a giant man with white hair and nonexistent eyebrows, glowering down at them. Hanamaki's not small, but he feels tiny under the weight of that stare. He quickly turns his attention back to the man in front of him, whose name badge reads "Futakuchi."

"The demon, where did it go?" Futakuchi asks, his pleasant smile slipping somewhat.

Hanamaki stares blankly back at him. "What demon?"

Futakuchi's smile disappears completely. "The demon that was just here with you. The one who opened the Hell Mouth."

Hanamaki glances over at Issei, who looks back at him with an equally impassive expression. "I didn't see any demon, did you, Mattsun?"

Issei tilts his head. "There was a demon?"

Futakuchi huffs in annoyance, hands on his hips. "Well? How else did the Hell Mouth open?"

Hanamaki blinks. "The Hell Mouth opened?"

"Why do you think we were all here?!" Futakuchi exclaims. "Stop being difficult and answer the question!" He grits his teeth; a vein throbs in his forehead that reminds Hanamaki of Iwaizumi.

His humor slips as an ache enters his chest. He shakes his head at Futakuchi. "Sorry, I'm afraid I can't. We're late for school as it is, so we'll just be going now."

He takes Issei's hand, pulling him past the two DHS members. Futakuchi steps forward, about to stop him, but his partner places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"We can't just let them go. They're key witnesses!" Futakuchi frowns up at his partner, but the giant man simply shakes his head silently.

Hanamaki nods in thanks, before hurrying out of the clearing with Issei beside him. He doesn't release his hand once they slow to a walk. Their shoes squish in the mud, and every part of him is soaked. He shivers, the cool October day bringing with it a chill in the air after the storm.

Issei draws away his hand in order to wrap his arm around Hanamaki's shoulder, pulling him close. It makes walking together somewhat awkward, but Hanamaki doesn't mind the stumble every now and then in order to press himself against Issei's warmth.

He's still not sure how they managed to get out of that battle alive. He can still hear the shrieks of the imps ringing in his ears like an echo down a long hallway. He can still smell blood mixed with the rain and the mud, and he shudders against Issei's side.

"Are you okay?" Issei murmurs, coming to a stop and turning toward him.

Hanamaki stares off past his shoulder. "He died. He _died_ , Issei."

Issei reaches out, touching his shoulder lightly before running his hand down his arm to take his hand once more. "I know."

"We're a couple of shit friends, aren't we? We were there and we didn't even realize . . . I didn't even see him down until the Hell Mouth closed."

"It was chaos; we were fighting for our lives."

"We should've been fighting for _their_ lives."

Issei says nothing, so Hanamaki knows he agrees. He sighs, running his free hand through his hair agitatedly.

"What are we supposed to do now? They're off doing whatever with the faeries, and we . . . what? return to our lives as normal?"

Issei considers him a moment. "We'll do what we've always done. Fight to protect our home. Our goal was to become members of the DHS, right? Leaders of our own squadrons? Who says that has to change just because Oikawa and Iwaizumi aren't here? Yeah, it would've been great to join the DHS with them, but we can still go forward. They'd want us to anyway."

Hanamaki stares at his boyfriend, grinning slowly. "Since when did you become so wise?"

Issei rolls his eyes, tugging him forward then to kiss him gently. "Let's just focus on the future."

Hanamaki nods, squeezing Issei's hand gently. "Oh, and hey I guess with Oikawa and Iwaizumi gone _we'll_ be the best hunters in school, huh?"

"Hell yeah."

They fist-bump, grinning at each other, before Hanamaki starts off toward the city then, pulling Issei alongside him. "Come on, let's go to your place and take a shower."

"Why my place?"

"Your parents are working right now, yeah?"

"And?"

Hanamaki wiggles his eyebrows. "I wasn't thinking of going back to school."

Issei laughs. "Of course you weren't."

"We need to celebrate!"

"Of course we do."

"You love me."

Issei smile grows tender, and he nudges his shoulder lightly against Hanamaki's. "Of course I do."

Hanamaki's face grows warm, but he smiles back, knowing that Issei is right about their friends. At least, wherever they are, they're together, and Hanamaki knows that they'll be able to make it back home safely if that's the case.

 

***

 

Kunimi didn't really mind being sent away from the clearing as soon as the Hell Mouth opened. Staying would have required fighting, and he was tired after grappling with three magic users and a crazy-haired guy with a mean right hook. So he made his way home, took a shower, then fell asleep, deciding not to take the time to go to school. There didn't seem to be a point anyway, considering Japan was going to fall into ruin, demons were going to take over the earth, etc.

Kindaichi was safe as long as he did as he was told, and Kunimi had done that. He had no reason to worry.

But then it hits him like a shot to his chest.

He bolts upright in bed, lungs tight, panting. He moves one hand to place it above his heart, clutching at his sleep shirt. For a second he's completely disoriented. His heart is pounding rapidly, and he feels something akin to panic.

He feels.

Kunimi's eyes widen. He _feels_.

Bounding out of bed, he dresses quickly, feeling an urgency he's never felt before. His demon must have died in the clearing, that's the only explanation. As he runs his fingers through his hair to smooth it, he thinks of Kindaichi, of the kiss they'd shared. Heat floods his cheeks, and he takes a moment to bury his face in his hands. He hurt his friend, he knows he did. His chest tightens, stinging, but he lifts his head and tells himself he can make it right.

He has to be able to make things right.

His mother calls to him, as he passes her on his way to the door, having thought he was sick, but he ignores her, pulling on his shoes quickly and racing out the door without waiting to grab an umbrella. It turns out he doesn't need one, however, as the sky has begun to clear. Water clings to the sidewalks and streets, and he has to be careful that he doesn't slip, as he runs as fast as he can toward Aoba Johsai.

His lungs are burning by the time he gets to the school, and he takes a moment to lean against the front gates, trying to catch his breath. The front courtyard is silent, not a soul in sight. Kunimi's not sure if that's a good sign or not. Has the demon king won? Is everyone already dead?

But no, as he climbs over the gate he can see into the classrooms through the windows and there are students at their desks. He can't see Kindaichi's classroom from his perch, so he quickly climbs back down and makes his way into the school just as the bell rings to signal lunch.

The halls are flooded with students, all of them talking animatedly about something, possibly the attack on the clearing if news has made it this far. Kunimi doesn't try to pick out the individual conversations. Instead, he focuses all his attention on locating Kindaichi in the crowd.

His heart feels like it's trying to suffocate him, lodging itself in his throat, and when his impatience wins out, he grabs the nearest student by the arm and nearly gets punched in the face for it.

"What?!" the student asks, reeling.

"Kindaichi."

"He went home. He said he wasn't feeling well."

Kunimi's brain scrambles to keep up with his thoughts. If his demon died, breaking the contract which resulted in returning Kunimi's soul, does that mean Kindaichi's life is forfeit? Is he dying right now?

Kunimi turns away swiftly, shoving past the students in his way, as he exits the school once more and makes his way toward Kindaichi's house. His muscles ache, (it's more running than he's ever done in his life, he's pretty sure) but panic and desperation have filled him, and he urges his legs to move faster, his body to stay upright, until he nearly collapses at Kindaichi's door.

He knocks rapidly, sagging against the frame. It takes a moment, but then Kindaichi himself opens the door, looking down at Kunimi with startled surprise.

"Kunimi-kun? What are you d--"

"I went to the school," Kunimi interrupts. Looking up at Kindaichi and remembering how soft and gentle his lips had been brings more heat to his face, but he does his best to focus on the more important issue. "They said you were sick."

"Oh." Kindaichi rubs the back of his neck, giving Kunimi a sheepish smile. "I just said that because . . . well, you weren't there and I was worried _you_ were sick, and Iwaizumi-san wasn't there either, and so there was nobody to train with me. And I was feeling kind of sad so . . . I don't know. I wanted to come home."

"I made a contract with a demon."

The words are out before Kunimi can think better of them. Kindaichi pauses, eyes growing impossibly large.

"What?"

"To get you back, to-to save you. I made a contract. I gave up my soul. I couldn't feel anything, that's why . . . but the demon is dead now. It has to be. I can feel things again, and I was afraid that you . . ."

Kunimi has to stop, the lump in his throat cutting off his speech, his lungs still burning. Kindaichi seems to understand though, because he's tilting his head, studying Kunimi closely.

"You were afraid I'd die because the contract became void?"

Kunimi nods.

"So that's why you've been acting so weird? Why didn't you just _tell_ me about the contract?"

Kunimi looks away. "I didn't want you to feel guilty. I didn't want you to worry about me or get yourself in trouble trying to fix me . . ."

There's a moment of silence following this admission, and Kunimi wonders if it'd be better to just slink away now that he knows Kindaichi is alive and well. He doesn't dare look back into Kindaichi's face, sure that he'll see hurt and possibly betrayal in his expression.

"Why did you kiss me?" Kindaichi asks then, his voice masking an emotion Kunimi can only guess at.

"To see if it'd make me feel anything."

"Did it?"

Kunimi flinches slightly, staring down at his shoes. "No." He inhales shakily. "But," here he lifts his head to meet Kindaichi's gaze, "I wanted it to."

Color rises to Kindaichi's cheeks, and he blinks, lips parting. "O-oh."

Taking that as an encouraging response, Kunimi steps forward. Kindaichi remains where he is, watching Kunimi with wide eyes.

"Yuutarou." He says it softly, reaching to curl his fingers into Kindaichi's shirt. "I'm sorry." He's not sure what else to say, so he simply tugs on Kindaichi's shirt, pulling him closer. Kindaichi moves forward without resistance, and when Kunimi reaches up with his free hand to hold the back of his neck, Kindaichi bends willingly and meets Kunimi's kiss.

His lips feel as they did before: soft, warm, slightly damp, but the fire that erupts in Kunimi's stomach is entirely new. He relishes the sensation though, basks in it, as he presses closer and deepens the kiss. His skin feels prickly, heat moving through his veins, and when Kindaichi wraps his arm around Kunimi's back and pulls him against his chest, Kunimi's pretty sure his heart and lungs stop working completely for a moment.

He pulls away, gasping, and the soft whine of protest from Kindaichi weakens his knees. But he shakes his head, pushing Kindaichi back slightly with the hand still curled into his shirt at his chest.

"Inside," he prompts, and Kindaichi's eyes widen again. He nods quickly, grabbing Kunimi's hand then and pulling him inside the house.

And while Kunimi's never been as optimistic a person as some, as he watches Kindaichi flutter about the living area, offering tea or coffee or a snack, tentatively calling him "Akira" with a faint blush, Kunimi feels something like hope fill him. Hope for the future, the feeling that maybe everything will be okay after all.

 

***

 

"Yaku-san! Yaku-san! Let me help you!"

Yaku grimaces, as his giant puppy of a boyfriend bounds over to the aisle where he's standing, attempting to put away the new batch of spell books Kozume-san ordered. When he, Lev, and Kenma were approached by that faerie in the woods two weeks ago, he'd offered to help Kenma's grandmother with her shop and make it look like Kenma was still living at home for his parents' benefit. He'd already had to lie twice to them, saying that Kenma was over at his, but thankfully (though perhaps worryingly) they never asked to speak with him and took Yaku at his word.

He's still not sure why Kenma _wanted_ to go with the faerie to help them do . . . whatever it is they need to do. It strikes him as odd for Kenma to change his routine so drastically. But when he saw the fire and determination in Kenma's eyes after he agreed to leave with the faerie, he didn't try to stop him, though his chest aches for his friend even now. He's concerned, and his worry makes him irritable, sick to his stomach.

Surprisingly, Lev has been a great help with that. His hugs are firm and comforting, and he seems to enjoy simply holding Yaku whenever and wherever. The contact soothes Yaku's anxiety over Kenma, especially when Lev assures him again and again that "Kenma-san will be fine! He's smart and powerful and besides, Kuroo-san is with him!" Yaku isn't sure if that last bit is exactly reassuring, but he does know Kuroo would do anything to keep Kenma safe.

There are times when Lev still annoys Yaku, however, and this is one of them.

"I can do it myself, Lev," he mutters, mainly to himself because he knows that won't deter his boyfriend.

"But these books need to go on the top shelf and you're too short to reach them--ow!"

Lev rubs his leg where Yaku kicked him, though not as hard as he used to. "I _said_ I can do it myself. There's a ladder here for a reason." He gestures toward the stepladder beside him.

Lev straightens. "But I'm done with my section. I want to help you." He pouts, and Yaku rolls his eyes.

"Fine, you can organize that box," he gestures to the closed one beside the one in front of him. "They need to be sorted alphabetically by author. That'll make it easier for shelving them."

"Okay!"

Lev plops down onto the floor, eagerly ripping open the box to start pulling books out. Yaku winces at first, about to scold him and tell him to be gentler, but when he pulls out the books his hands are careful, and he studies each spine with intense concentration before setting them aside in piles. Yaku finds himself watching him more than he works. A fond smile catches the corner of his lips, and eventually he moves to sit beside Lev, leaning against him gently.

"Are you okay, Yaku-san?" Lev asks, glancing down at him briefly.

"Just . . . do you think it would've been better to go with Kenma to wherever that faerie took him?"

Lev doesn't hesitate before shaking his head. "I think Kenma-san outgrew us with his powers. We couldn’t help him anymore with that. But we can help him here! We can help his grandma and keep his parents from becoming suspicious. He needs us here, Yaku-san."

Yaku pulls away from Lev, looking up at him with something akin to skepticism, or maybe it's awe, he's not sure which. Lev catches his gaze and gives a small yelp.

"What's that look for?" he asks nervously.

Yaku grabs the edge of the red scarf Lev's wearing, yanking him down to kiss him soundly. Lev squeaks but kisses him back almost immediately. He's gotten better at it, so there are no clacking teeth or bumping noses this time. Yaku doesn't allow himself to melt into it, though, knowing they still have work to do. He pulls back reluctantly, though he keeps his fingers curled around the scarf a moment longer.

"You're attractive when you act serious and mature," Yaku mutters, embarrassment heating his cheeks. He looks away, releasing Lev then.

"But Yaku-san, aren't I attractive all the time? Alisa says I'm the prettiest boy she's ever seen, and she should know because she's off in college and sees a lot of boys, so--"

Yaku stands quickly. "We're not having this conversation right now," he says, turning back to his box of books.

Lev grins. "Okay, Yaku-san~"

Yaku's face still feels like it's burning, as he bends to pick up the next book in the box to set it on the shelf. Despite this fact, however, his chest feels lighter than before. He knows Lev is right, that they're helping Kenma by staying here and holding down the fort while he's gone. And the last thing Kenma said to them before he left with the faerie was, "take care of each other."

Yaku glances over at Lev, who's frowning slightly in concentration at the two books in his hands.

_Don't worry about us, Kenma. Just come home safely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	17. it's a new dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **Welcome to the Beginning of Act Two**
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new journey!

 

 

 

yesterday is gone. tomorrow has not yet come.  
we have only today. let us begin.

\--mother teresa

* * *

 

 

Suga stands in front of the house, fiddling with the sleeve of his yukata. He's been going over what to say over and over in his mind, yet he's still unsure if his words will even prove successful. He hopes they will, but the future keeps changing, probabilities shifting, and it's difficult to focus. The one constant looms before him, the weight of it heavy on his chest, but he ignores it for now, knowing that it won't do to be distracted.

"My king, we do not have to do this," Sawamura Daichi, his best friend, his right hand, stands beside him as he always does. His back his straight, dark eyes bright and alert, one hand resting on the hilt of his katana that rests at his side. His yukata is of a dark blue, the hakama brown to match his eyes. It's a good color on him, and with the V of the yukata low enough to see the tanned skin of his strong chest, Suga has to keep himself from staring.

"He is one of us," Suga says, wetting his lips with his tongue, as he turns back to the house before them. "It's only fair that I make him this offer."

"He's been living with the humans his entire life. It's likely he doesn't believe we exist."

Suga can't help but smile faintly. Daichi, always so practical. But it shows faith that he's standing with him to deliver this news (it must be faith, seeing as Suga is in no immediate danger here). Dependable, faithful, handsome Daichi . . . it's no wonder that Suga fell for him.

Despite being out in the open, there's privacy here. They're away from the eyes of the court, the eyes of the people, so Suga takes a chance and reaches for Daichi's hand, lacing his fingers through his and giving his palm a firm squeeze. Daichi starts at first, but then he squeezes back, his hand rough but warm.

"Just trust me. We need him too."

Daichi studies him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me what for?"

Suga grins. "Nope!" Pulling his hand away, he hops lightly up the steps of the porch, with Daichi following behind, muttering a soft "of course not" under his breath. Suga fights a laugh.

He knocks on the door, as Daichi returns to his side. Suga is grateful for his presence, even though technically his job isn't to protect him. Suga has his own bodyguards, and Daichi has a protector of his own, being as valuable as he is. But Suga requested that he tag along with this particular mission, telling no one but Kiyoko where he was going. Dangerous, perhaps (a fact Daichi himself brought up), but Suga didn't want to approach his kin with a group of armed men.

The door opens and a young man with hair spiked up on his head, streaked ash-blond and black, opens the door. He's wearing an obnoxiously bright yellow and blue shirt with jeans and neon rainbow socks, and Suga can't help but grin at the attire, even as the boy's golden eyes widen slightly.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

Suga checks his aura, despite knowing he doesn't need to. This is the one.

"Bokuto Koutarou?"

Koutarou starts in surprise, blinking owlishly at him. "H-how do you know my given name?" he asks.

Suga tilts his head, not sure what he means before remembering. "Oh, right, given names are kept secret here because of the demon activity. Well, I don't think you need to worry about that right now, seeing as your friends managed to successfully close the Hell Mouth. I'm sure some imps are still around, but no demons will be able to use your name against you."

Koutarou is still blinking at him. Suga fingers the hem of his yukata sleeves once more. This wasn't off to as great a start as he'd hoped.

"Let me start over," he says, shaking his head. "My name is Sugawara Koushi. I come from the faerie realm, a kingdom in another dimension where I am the newly appointed king. I've come to you because you are my kin, a cousin actually. A half-fae. And I need your help."

Koutarou's eyes widen even further, his eyebrows lifting toward his hairline. "AKAASHI!" he calls into the house.

Daichi instinctively puts his arm out in front of Suga, stepping forward in a protective stance, but Suga pushes his arm down gently with a shake of his head. A moment later a second young man joins the first. Suga recognizes him if only because he's been keeping tabs on Koutarou and this one with the dark hair and deep green eyes is important to him.

"Akaashi _look_ ," Koutarou says with excitement. "These are faeries! Real faeries! I _told_ you they were real! I knew it!" Koutarou turns back to Suga with a grin. "I knew you were real."

Akaashi ("Keiji," Suga reminds himself) regards the two in front of him with a skeptical glance. He narrows his eyes, and Suga can tell he's scanning their auras. Then his eyes widen slightly.

"Your aura is like Bokuto-san's, only the colors are more vibrant . . ." he says softly.

Suga nods. "It's our fae magic heightening, well, everything. Our senses, our strengths, our emotions . . . our weaknesses." He huffs softly, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. "We need assistance. Our . . . _my_ kingdom is being threatened by our neighbor faerie nation. They want to return to this realm of the humans. For good or ill, I do not know. But we retreated to this other dimension because humans took advantage of our magic, used it for ill. If we return, history _will_ repeat itself. I can't let that happen."

Keiji looks skeptical. "How did you get here if you're from a different dimension? And what's stopping this other nation from simply coming through as you did?"

"We control the portal," Daichi says, speaking for the first time. He reaches into the V of his yukata, retrieving the pendant hanging from a long cord around his neck. It's a glass sphere, and inside the clear casing spirals of gold magic are visible, swirling like leaves on breeze, trapped by the glass.

"Oh wow!" Koutarou exclaims, reaching forward.

Daichi frowns and quickly tucks the sphere back into his yukata. "I'm its guardian. I'm afraid I cannot let you touch it."

Suga turns back to the two in the doorway. He can't read Keiji's expression, but he can still sense his apprehension. For now he ignores it, shifting his gaze back onto Koutarou, who's now watching Daichi with a look of wonder.

"I believe our sister nation intends to attack my kingdom in order to steal this pendant and open the portal themselves. We need to fortify our defenses, but my kingdom is small; many have joined the opposition because they believed them to be stronger, more powerful. Every day we grow weaker, and I cannot stand by while my people, our entire race, are in danger."

"How can Bokuto-san help? He's just one man, and he doesn't know any magic."

"Akaashi!" Koutarou turns to frown at his companion. "I can learn! These are _faeries_ and the king is my cousin! The _king_! That means I'm royalty!" He pauses, giving Suga a curious glance. "Right?"

Suga grins faintly and nods. "Yes, you do have royal blood."

"I have royal blood!" Koutarou turns back to Keiji with a grin. "I have to go. I _want_ to go." He turns back to face Suga. "Akaashi can come with us too, right?"

Suga hesitates. Although he knew it was unlikely Koutarou would want to go without his boyfriend, he's not sure if Keiji's presence will help or hurt their situation. Considering his current state, it's difficult to tell.

"Ah, well . . . his curse poses a problem," Suga admits.

Keiji stiffens.

"What do you mean?" Koutarou glances between them all. "If you're faeries, then he can touch you without hurting you. I mean, that's why he can touch me, right?"

Suga shakes his head, feeling sadness press against his heart. He doesn't want to hurt Koutarou, and he's not sure if telling the truth will help at this point, but he can't lie to him either. It does surprise him, however, that Keiji didn't tell him everything about the curse. Considering how close the two seem, Suga would have thought Keiji would share all his knowledge. Yet Koutarou is watching them with growing concern, and Keiji remains silent, hands tucked into the sleeves of his yukata, eyes on the wooden planks of the porch.

"You didn't tell him?" he asks softly.

Koutarou frowns. "Tell me what?"

"He doesn't need to know," Keiji says, shaking his head but not lifting his gaze to meet Suga's.

"Don't you think he has a right to?" Suga asks as gently as he can.

"My king," Daichi murmurs beside him, a warning.

"Tell me _what_?" Koutarou asks, his irritation growing.

Keiji frowns, just slightly but it's enough for Suga to think maybe he should've kept his mouth shut after all. But they're a couple, and couples shouldn't hide things from each other . . . He glances at Daichi, a twinge of guilt smacking his chest hard before he tears his gaze away before his companion can notice.

"The reason I can touch you isn't because you're a faerie, or a half-faerie." Keiji shakes his head slowly. "The person I need to kill in order to break my curse . . . that person is you, Bokuto-san. It's someone I can touch without harming."

Koutarou freezes, his eyes wide. "But you weren't going to do it, right? Of course you wouldn't _kill_ me." He laughs, high and nervous, and Keiji hesitates. It's a brief hesitation, but Koutarou notices it, and his laughter stops abruptly. "Akaashi . . .?"

"No, of course not," Keiji says quickly, shaking his head.

"But you thought about it, didn't you? You hesitated, that means you thought about it." Koutarou's eyes are dark, his lips turned downward. When Keiji seems at a loss for words, he continues. "How could you even consider something like that? I thought you loved me!"

Keiji flinches. "I do love you," he says softly. "But that doesn't mean you're the only person I want to touch."

Koutarou's expression clouds further. "It's Kozume-kun, isn't it? You'd kill me so you can touch him? Are you in love with him? Do you love him more than me?"

Keiji frowns. "Stop it," he snaps, pressing his arms tightly against his chest. "You're acting like a child. I haven't killed you, nor do I have any intention to do so."

Suga is beginning to suspect he shouldn't have brought this up in the first place. As Koutarou screws up his face for another, likely heated, retort, he quickly steps forward, hands up in a placating gesture. "Koutarou, please, calm down. You know that Keiji loves you very much, and there . . . there may be a way for him to break his curse without harming anyone."

This catches both their attention, and Daichi sighs beside him. Suga ignores him. "If Keiji promises to wear gloves at all times, he's welcome to join us."

"I don't want him to come anymore," Koutarou says, turning away from Keiji to cross his arms and pout.

Keiji rolls his eyes. "I agree to your terms," he tells Suga. "I _am_ interested in finding a new way to break this curse."

Suga nods, relieved. Daichi shifts beside him, impatience rolling off him. Suga gives his elbow a surreptitious squeeze. "Neither of you need to bring anything, everything will be provided at the palace."

He steps away from Daichi, giving him a nod. He nods in return, drawing the pendant back out of his yukata. He rubs over the surface of the glass with his thumb, muttering a spell beneath his breath. The magic trapped inside glows brighter, solidifying, turning the entire pendant gold. Daichi turns, lifting it and aiming it toward the front lawn.

A beam of light bursts from the pendant to hit the grass in front of them. The ground shimmers, rippling like water. Suga nods to Keiji and Koutarou. "After you," he says, gesturing toward the ground moving before them. "It'll take you to the portal just outside my kingdom."

Keiji grabs Koutarou's arm before he can move forward. "You first," he says to Suga, voice calm, but eyes sharp, calculating.

Suga blinks before nodding with a faint smile. "Of course." He brushes his fingers across Daichi's shoulder, pressing his aura gently against his, as he passes him to approach the portal. He turns and gives Keiji and Koutarou a salute, before stepping backwards into the rippling grass. A cold, wet feeling envelops him, and he hisses softly under his breath. He's not sure he'll ever get used to that.

He's weightless, drifting from one dimension to the other, and though it's only a couple seconds of cold and sense deprivation, when he stumbles out into the forest surrounding the portal he greets the trees and grass with a sigh of relief. He straightens, smoothing down the front of his yukata and hakama, before turning to greet Keiji and Koutarou as they exit the portal. Koutarou reels, nearly falling on his face, while Keiji stands completely still, eyes blinking rapidly.

Daichi steps out from behind them and the portal closes, the pendant fading to clear as the magic settles, returning to its sand-like state. He tucks it beneath his yukata once more, giving Suga a slight nod. Curious eyes peer out from the guard stations placed around the portal's entrance. Suga waves them forward, waiting until a few step into view before turning to Keiji and Koutarou.

"Welcome, friends, to Karasuno."

 

 

***

 

Imps are shrieking, men are crying out in pain, the chaos surrounds him, engulfing him, but Iwaizumi feels disconnected from it all. He's staring at Tooru, standing across from him with wide eyes and a horrified expression. There's something warm spreading across his chest, his heart is pounding much too fast, and there's a sharp ache pulsing through his torso. He struggles to breathe, as blood fills his lungs, bubbling up his throat and out of his mouth. Tooru stands, holding the sword that pierced him, and he's crying, sobbing, apologizing over and over. Iwaizumi wants to reach out to him, but his arms won't move. He can't speak.

He awakes in a cold sweat. Sitting upright quickly, he clutches at his chest, feeling for the wound. His chest is smooth; there's not even a scar to mar his skin. Anyone could look at him and never know that he'd died. He's not even completely sure it happened. He can't remember anything after he pressed Tooru's forehead to his own and told him to not give up. The next thing he knows is he was waking in Tooru's arms, looking up at his three friends bending over him with red eyes and wet faces.

Sighing, he runs his hands over his face. The bed beneath him is comfortable, a soft mattress and fluffy pillows, but he knows he won't be able to go back to sleep now. Besides, the sun is beginning to rise, pink and golden light creeping along the wooden floors from beneath the curtains covering the windows. Moving carefully as to not disturb Tooru, Iwaizumi swings his legs over the edge of the bed to stand. Turning, he pulls the covers back up over Tooru's shoulder gently, taking a moment to study him, quiet and still in sleep.

Although he insists on using his glamour around the faeries, when it's just the two of them he's relented to allowing Iwaizumi to see his true form. Because of all the dark, demon magic he used at the Hell Mouth, his markings have spread down the left side of his chest and back, over his shoulder to halfway down his arm. Despite this, and the sharp claws extending from his fingertips, Tooru looks harmless, breathing quietly with his face half-buried in the soft pillows. He looks almost endearing, actually, and Iwaizumi's chest aches for a different reason than before.

Turning away, he steps over to the window, pushing back the curtain just enough to slide it open and step outside onto the balcony. The air is fresh and clean, wind gently rustling the trees outside the wall that surrounds the city of Karasuno. The palace is at the heart of the city, with two roads leading out of it, one to the front gate and one to the back one. On the third floor, Iwaizumi can see the front gates, the guard turrets on either side. He knows they're not manned, however. The city's grown too small for that, and the citizens are dwindling, according to their king. More and more are joining the other faerie nation, Shiratorizawa, thinking it more powerful and more likely to succeed. Iwaizumi's not sure what to think about the war he's been asked to assist in, but seeing as he owes the king his life, he's not about to request permission to stay out of it.

The sun continues its ascent, shining over the top of the wall. Turning away from its bright light, Iwaizumi looks down below to the city just waking up. He can see vendors with their wares setting up their booths along the streets. When he first stepped through the portal, he felt as though he'd been sent back in time. Although the world outside advanced in technology throughout the years, the faeries seem to prefer magic, using it for light and transport and entertainment. They grow their own crops, apparently, and hunt for meat in the forest outside. The captain of the king's guard, a faerie named Ennoshita Chikara, explained that they used to have a trade route with Shiratorizawa, who had more land and more resources, but lately that route was closed and now Karasuno must make do with what they have.

It's a simple life, a peaceful one. As Iwaizumi rests his forearms against the railing, he can't help but wonder if they could simply . . . stay here after they've completed whatever task the king has for them. It would be safer for Tooru. Back in Miyagi, the DHS will be searching for the half-demon that opened the Hell Mouth. Sooner or later they'd find Tooru and take him away, possibly kill him. As annoyed as Iwaizumi still is over the way Tooru orchestrated that whole fiasco, he can't let that happen.

But he wonders if Tooru would run away like that. He's not sure he would.

"Iwa-chan? Iwa-chan!"

Tooru's frantic voice behind him brings him quickly back to the present. Turning away from the view, Iwaizumi makes quick strides back into the room, where Tooru is now sitting up on the bed, eyes darting around the room, as he clutches at the blankets. When his gaze lands on Iwaizumi, though, he relaxes, biting his lip gently.

"You're here," he says with relief.

"Another nightmare?" Iwaizumi moves to sit on the bed across from him, taking in his pale face and the circles under his eyes. In the two weeks they've been here, Tooru's had nightmares nearly every night. He can't blame him; he struggles to find restful sleep himself, his mind full of questions others refuse to (or can't) answer. But he can only imagine what terrible things Tooru must be seeing.

Tooru nods, eyes filling with tears. Sighing softly, Iwaizumi reaches out to take Tooru's hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

"I'm-I'm so sorry, Iwa-chan," Tooru gasps, his voice breaking on the words. "I didn't mean--"

"I know you didn't," Iwaizumi says quickly. "You need to stop blaming yourself for that shit. It wasn't your fault."

"You _died_. I _killed_ you."

It's the same conversation Iwaizumi feels they've had a hundred times already. He releases Tooru's hand, reaching for his face instead in order to grab him, squishing his cheeks together as he does.

"Listen to me," he says, as firmly as he can. "I'm not dead. I'm here, with you, alive. So you don't have to think about what happened in the past."

_If anything, I should be the one apologizing . . ._

None of this would've happened if he hadn't hesitated, allowing the demon to take control of him. He should have attacked the man immediately, not waiting for him to wax words poetic in an attempt to manipulate Tooru. If he had, then Tooru never would've gone through the traumatic experience he had. He wouldn't be sitting here, tears on his face, having nightmares about killing his best friend.

He was supposed to protect Tooru, and he failed.

_What kind of knight am I?_

He releases Tooru's face, leaning back, as Tooru rubs at his sore cheeks.

Before either of them can say anything further, however, there's a knock at the door. Standing, Iwaizumi crosses over to the door of the room, sliding it open. A dark-haired young man with deep blue eyes and a solemn expression bows deeply.

"Sugawara-sama requests your presence," he says, keeping himself bent forward.

Not sure why this kid is offering him so much respect, Iwaizumi shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. He glances behind him at Tooru, who's risen from the bed and strides forward with a faint grin.

"Just Iwa-chan's presence? I thought he wanted _my_ help with his war, that's why he brought me here, is it not?"

Frowning, Iwaizumi elbows Tooru in the stomach, wishing he wouldn't be such an ass to the poor kid who seemed to be floundering some now.

"I meant . . . both of you. He's requested both of you." The young man remains bent at the waist, frowning down at the floor.

"What's your name, kid?" Iwaizumi asks, though he's well aware that the young man might be several hundred years older than him.

"Kageyama Tobio, sir. I'm a guardian-in-training. My duties include assisting Sugawara-sama with various tasks around the palace since we've lost so many of our people to Shiratorizawa . . ."

"So you've been demoted to errand-boy," Tooru surmises, and Iwaizumi elbows him again, harder. Tooru yelps and takes a step back.

"Stop picking on him. I'm pretty sure we don’t want to piss off our hosts in a place like this." He turns back to Kageyama, who's still bowing but his pose has stiffened.

"You don't have to keep doing that," Iwaizumi offers, reaching out to place a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Kageyama straightens slowly, glancing from Iwaizumi's hand to his face. His cheeks are flushed, brows furrowed, and he rolls his shoulders back. "I'm not an errand boy," he declares. "I'm going to be the guardian of the key once Sawamura-san retires. It's a very important job." He glares at Tooru.

Tooru seems uninterested in this statement. "Tell your king we'll be there momentarily, we have to dress."

"I'm to escort you to the throne room."

Tooru wrinkles his nose. "Of course you are." He reaches around Iwaizumi to slide the door shut. "What an unpleasant child."

"He can still hear us, you know. This door is made of rice paper."

Tooru shrugs dismissively, crossing over to the wardrobe that stands opposite the window. He opens it, surveying the drapes of cloth. He selects a deep green one, turning and holding it out to Iwaizumi with a grin.

"You should wear this one. It'll look good with your dark, rough complexion."

Iwaizumi grunts, guessing he can't expect a run-in with his demon father to change the shitty side of Tooru's personality in any way. He steps over to take the cloth, trying to remember how to fold it around himself. It's been years since he's worn a yukata. He hasn't since he was a kid and he'd go to festivals with his parents.

His parents.

Iwaizumi swallows hard, hoping they're not worrying too much about him, wondering if Hanamaki and Matsukawa would let them know he's okay.

"Hey . . . do you think your mom's going to figure out what happened to you?" he asks, looking up to see Tooru's hands pause in the process of wrapping a light blue yukata around his waist.

"She might, I guess. I mean, if she knew what my father was, she probably figured out that all the increased demon activity was related to him and me. And with me and the demons gone now she'll probably guess that I've returned to Hell or whatever." He snorts softly. "She's probably glad to be rid of me."

Iwaizumi frowns. He tucks in the last part of the yukata, grabbing the belt and obi to tie into place. He reaches over to grab Tooru's elbow then, turning him to him. "Hey. Your mom loves you. There's never been a doubt in my mind about that, and there shouldn't be one in yours either. She's always known what you are, but she kept you and cared for you and did the best she could to give you a happy, normal childhood."

Tooru bites his lip, turning his eyes back to the material in his hands. He finishes folding it, and Iwaizumi picks up another belt and obi to fasten them around Tooru's waist, tying them off for him.

"You're right. You're always right. Thanks, Iwa-chan," he says softly, not meeting his gaze.

Iwaizumi sighs, leaning up slightly to kiss Tooru's cheek. "Let's see what his majesty wants us to do."

Tooru lifts his head, but Iwaizumi is already striding back toward the door to slide it back open. Kageyama is standing where he was before, as though he hadn't moved at all. He bows deeply again.

"I'm to escort you to the throne room," he says again.

"Right, yeah, lead the way."

 

 

The palace is impressive in size and build, the wood of the floors, walls, door frames and pillars dark and polished until it gleams. There doesn't seem to be many staff members around, so the walk is eerily silent, especially since Kageyama refuses to talk or even look at them. He holds his head high like he honestly believes he's someone important, and maybe he is. Iwaizumi has no idea how the hierarchy around here works, aside from the king being the obvious ruler. Tooru ignores him in return like the immature child that he is, and Iwaizumi fights a headache.

Only Tooru could make an enemy within five minutes of talking to someone.

The throne room is modest with a raised dais near the back, large pillars set up on either side of the room to create an aisle from the door to the platform. On top of the dais lies an ornate rug, embroidered with trees and flowers. Behind it stands a rice paper accordion wall, on which is painted a peaceful scene of a man seated beneath a tree in a forest surrounded by animals.

In front of this wall, seated cross-legged on the rug sits the king, Sugawara Koushi himself. He's bent over what appears to be a map, spread out on the rug in front of him. On his right is Sawamura Daichi, a man Iwaizumi met as soon as he arrived. The Guardian of the Key. On his left sits a woman, beautiful, with silky black hair and a beauty mark on her chin. Her kimono is pale pink, patterned with sakura blossoms, and when she speaks her voice is so soft Iwaizumi can't hear her, but Sugawara looks upon her with a faint smile whenever she does, his eyes tender.

His Queen?

On either side of the dais stand guards. Closest to Sawamura stands a tall guard with long hair tied back into a bun, his dark eyes stern as they stare directly ahead, the smallest scruff of hair on his chin. Closest to the woman are two men, one a head shorter than the other with spiked up hair. The taller one is bald, and they stand with their arms crossed over their chest, glowering at Iwaizumi and Tooru as they enter, legs parted in a firm stance. At their sides hang katanas, and the tall, stoic guard has one at his waist as well.

As Kageyama leads Iwaizumi and Tooru closer, Iwaizumi can make out two tall figures standing silhouetted behind the rice paper wall behind the dais, each holding spears. More guards.

Kageyama comes to a stop before the dais, bowing low before it. "Sugawara-sama, I have brought the demon guest like you requested."

Tooru bristles, but when Sugawara glances up and smiles brightly, he relaxes somewhat. It's such a warm, welcoming smile that it catches Iwaizumi off-guard. He's seen Sugawara before, but in the past two weeks he's been off doing important kingly stuff and Iwaizumi hasn't spoken to him since the day they arrived. He forgot how beautiful the man was.

Beside him, Tooru coughs lightly, drawing Iwaizumi out of his daze. He fights a blush, bowing before the faerie king.

"Thank you for your hospitality."

Sugawara beckons to them. "Come have a seat," he says. "We're just going over the latest news we received from our scouts."

Iwaizumi steps forward, pausing as Tooru doesn't immediately follow. But then he does, and the two of them take a seat on the dais across from Sugawara, Sawamura, and the woman.

"Thank you, Tobio, that will be all," Sugawara tells Kageyama. "Please, return to your training."

Kageyama bows once more, before leaving quickly, obviously eager to get back to whatever training he'd been doing before.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," Tooru is saying when Iwaizumi turns back. He's smiling disarmingly at the woman to Sugawara's left, holding out his hand. He applied his glamour the minute he stepped up to speak to Kageyama, and Iwaizumi notices a shinier gleam to his hair, whiter teeth and a deeper dimple. He's obviously trying to impress this woman, for whatever reason. Iwaizumi resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"My name is Oikawa Tooru. It's a great pleasure to meet you."

The woman raises a thinly arched eyebrow, placing her hand in his. "Shimizu Kiyoko," she replies.

"She is my best friend and wife, Queen of Karasuno," Sugawara says with a faint smile.

"And the fairest in the land, I'm sure," Tooru says, placing a small kiss on the back of Shimizu's hand.

She looks even more amused as she pulls her hand back. "I appreciate the compliment, but simple flattery is not enough to put yourself in my good graces."

Tooru blinks, hesitating, unsure of how to proceed, and Iwaizumi snorts a soft laugh. While Tooru struggles to keep his face from turning red, Sugawara gestures to the map lying between them.

"This is our home, our slice of paradise. We came here to escape oppression and manipulation, and now our sister kingdom, Shiratorizawa, is threatening to take our Key in order to return to the human realm. To bridge that gap I fear will be disastrous. We cannot allow them to take the Key. We used to live in harmony. In fact, my wife is the daughter of the former king of Shiratorizawa. But he was assassinated some fifty years ago. It's still unclear as to whom the culprit was, but the new king, Ushijima Wakatoshi, seems to think we'll be better off with humans. I disagree. We've attempted peace talks, but he's immovable."

"How can we help?" Iwaizumi asks, still confused as to what he and Tooru could do.

"I want you to go to Shiratorizawa, convince him that the human realm is not ready to accept us. I thought that, given your experience with your heritage, they'd listen to you."

Tooru tilts his head. "You mean you want me to use the fact that my own people want to kill me as an incentive for him to stay put?"

Sugawara nods. "Yes."

"But it doesn't work the same, does it?" Iwaizumi asks. "I mean, people see demons as evil, no question. But they wouldn't think the same of faeries."

Sugawara pursed his lips. "While it may be true they'd welcome our existence, I only see history repeating itself. Greedy business men contracting faeries for their good luck and magic, gaining wealth and prosperity by enslaving my people, military leaders forcing us to fight for them, against other humans, against each other . . . I do not want a life like that for my people."

"But there are magic users already living in Miyagi," Iwaizumi points out. "You brought one of them here yourself. Yeah, they work with us Demon Hunters, contracted to bless our weapons and take care of us, but we don't take advantage of that."

"You might not," Sugawara says patiently. "But can you speak for the rest of Japan?"

Iwaizumi falls silent, knowing he has a point.

"What if we can't convince this Ushiwaka person?" Tooru asks. "I'm a charismatic and persuasive person, but if this comes to war, I'm not sure I'm willing to fight another person's battle for them."

"If you're unable to persuade him, then you may return home," Sugawara offers.

Iwaizumi exchanges a look with Tooru. He knows what he's thinking. That there must be a catch in there somewhere. It seems too simple a request in exchange for bringing Iwaizumi back from the dead. He wonders if this Ushiwaka is particularly nasty or dangerous. The fact that the previous king was assassinated doesn't sit well with him either. There are so many unanswered questions running through his mind, and but despite their skepticism he doesn't really feel as though they have a choice at this point.

"Okay," Tooru says with a nod. "I'll save your kingdom from war. Just leave it to me." He gives the king his best, disarming smile.

Sugawara's return smile doesn't shine quite so brightly, and for some reason his eyes seem sad. "I hope you succeed."

 

 

***

 

Kenma's gone missing.

Again.

Kuroo can't really blame him, however. Being in a new environment is intimidating, and without Yaku and Haiba, Kenma's support system has been reduced to only himself and things between them are still . . . complicated.

They placed them in rooms across the hall from each other, but every time Kuroo's worked up the courage to knock on his door, to take a peek inside, Kenma's not there. He doesn't know where he goes or what he does, but every night they cross each other in the hall before going to bed and when Kuroo asks hesitantly, "you okay?" he receives a small nod before Kenma slips into his room and slides the door shut.

Kuroo knows he probably deserves the silent treatment, but after their experience together at the Hell Mouth, he thought they'd been making progress toward resolution.

He guesses he was wrong.

Still, he came here to look after Kenma, so after two weeks of this dancing around Kuroo's decided enough is enough, and he goes actively looking for him.

After checking under the bed, Kuroo makes his way to the very top of the palace, making his way down floor by floor, room by room. It's a rather impressive building, but Kuroo doesn't really take the time to admire anything. In Kenma's absence he's taken plenty of private tours, though the injuries on his back haven't allowed him to be on his feet for very long. King Sugawara has offered time and again to send him a doctor to heal his wounds, but Kuroo continues to refuse. It's his punishment. He'll heal in time, but he doesn't deserve to take any shortcuts after the mistakes he's made.

_[you're much too hard on yourself, you know.]_

_If you're not going to offer me advice on how to find Kenma, you can piss off._ Kuroo's back aches, itching beneath its bandages, making him irritable.

_[use your brain. why did he come here? surely it wasn't to assist them with their war.]_

Kuroo's steps slow to a halt. He's standing in the middle of a hallway, frowning into the air. He senses a couple servants skirting around him, but he doesn't turn to look at them.

_He probably came to learn more about magic. He wants to become stronger, more powerful._

_[so knowing that, where do you think he'd be?]_

_Probably training somewhere . . ._

Kuroo begins walking again, steps quick and purposeful. He knows there are a few rooms dedicated to training in magic and hand to hand combat. There are also the courtyards outside around the palace, beautiful and decorative gardens with koi ponds and fountains carved (magicked?) from marble. While he knows Kenma prefers the indoors, if he's avoiding Kuroo he'd probably go as far from him as possible. Plus it's nice outside: a warm sun with a cool breeze drifting from the mountains to the west, beyond the rear entrance to Karasuno. Kenma enjoys sitting in the warmth of the sun, so Kuroo makes his way outside, strolling unhurriedly through the gardens, despite the rapid pulse in his throat.

"GWAH! That's so cool! You're amazing, Kenma!"

This new voice, squawking loudly and breaking the serene atmosphere, draws Kuroo's attention to a section of the courtyard near the outer walls of the palace grounds. Shifting course, he makes his way over to where a young boy with bright orange hair sits on the edge of a fountain, his hands curled into balls on his knees as he leans forward, eyes shining, mouth grinning, watching Kenma like he's the greatest thing since rock candy. Kenma has at least a dozen small spheres of water lifted from the fountain dancing above their heads, swirling around, forming different patterns in the air. The light from the sun reflects off them, making rainbows appear in each sphere.

He's concentrating, eyes fixed on the spheres, one palm lifted toward them, while is other hand twitches at his side. There's a blush on his cheeks, but his expression is as impassive as always. As Kuroo draws nearer, however, he catches the smallest tilt of a smile on his lips. It disappears when he notices Kuroo, and Kuroo feels his stomach twist before dropping to his wooden geta. Kenma lowers his arm, and the water breaks apart, splashing to the grass and pathway.

The small boy on the fountain turns to look at Kuroo, his lips making a small "O". His eyes flickers between Kenma and Kuroo for a moment, and he shifts uncomfortably before standing.

"I think Kageyama's calling me! Um, bye!"

He runs off, and Kuroo raises an eyebrow. "Who's that and what did you say about me?"

Kenma doesn't look at him, as he walks over to the fountain and sits on the edge of it, trailing his fingers absently through the water. "That's Shouyou."

Kuroo waits, resisting the urge to cross his arms impatiently. After a moment Kenma sighs. "I didn't say anything about you. Maybe your bed-head scared him off."

It's very small, and it disappears almost instantly, but Kuroo sees the smirk that lifts Kenma's mouth before his features become dead-pan once more. His chest feels lighter at the sight of it, and he places his hands on his hips indignantly.

"I can't help my bed-head! Besides, it just adds to my rakish good looks."

"Sure it does."

Emboldened by this normal (if somewhat insulting) conversation, and the fact that Kenma hasn't tried yet to escape, Kuroo takes a seat in front of him. Kenma's fingers pause just briefly, before continuing their skim through the water. Kuroo tries to calm his heartbeat, though it's difficult when he hasn't been this close to Kenma since the battle. He struggles to think of what to say next, not sure if he should apologize again or try to start over completely.

He notices then, the edge of a scar on his shoulder, peeking out from beneath the folds of his red yukata.

"Should you be up and about while you're still healing?" he asks, his concern overtaking his anxiety.

Kenma glances briefly at the scar, lifting his hand to pull the collar of his yukata up to cover it. "I'm fine. They used this cream on it . . . it doesn't hurt anymore and the doctor said the scars will fade." He lifts his head then, frowning faintly at Kuroo. "What about you?"

Kuroo looks down at the water, reaching out to pull a lotus flower closer to him. He plucks it gently, turning to carefully brush back Kenma's hair, setting the flower behind his ear. Kenma allows it, watching him silently. In a daring move, Kuroo lets his fingers linger, stroking down the side of Kenma's jaw.

"Don't worry about me," he says finally, smiling gently. He barely notices the dull ache of his wounds, especially when faced with Kenma's softening expression. He can see it, the subtle change, the relaxing of his brow, the way his lips form a line instead of a frown. There's a quick flick of his tongue, wetting those lips, and Kuroo feels his stomach hollow out. Before he really realizes what he's doing, he's leaning forward.

"Hey, hey, hey! Look who's here!"

Kenma turns away, and Kuroo curses inwardly, before he realizes what interrupted them and turns to see Bokuto waving emphatically from the entrance to the palace. Kuroo expects him to rush over and tackle him, but he stays where he is, Akaashi at his side.

Kenma stands. "He was wounded in the battle.."

"Oh." Kuroo stands as well, a twinge of guilt hitting his chest as he realizes he hadn't even stopped to consider Bokuto might've been injured or not. When he'd woken up in the battlefield after being knocked out by Oikawa, Bokuto and Akaashi had disappeared. He assumed they left the fight altogether, but it hadn't occurred to him that the reason might've been an injury.

Kenma's already started walking toward the two, so Kuroo hastens to catch up. When they reach the two, Kuroo grabs Bokuto into a hug. Bokuto hugs him back tightly, nearly lifting him off his feet.

"Hey! Last time I saw you, you were face-down in the mud!" he cries. "I'm glad you're okay!"

Kuroo winces, as Bokuto's arms press against his injured back. "I'm glad you're okay too, Bo," he manages to say, pretty sure Bokuto's crushing his ribcage.

"Bokuto, put him down," Kenma says softly by his side. "He's not done healing."

Bokuto sets him down so quickly Kuroo stumbles.

"Whoa! hey, sorry man! I had no idea. Why don't you use that special magic faerie cream they got here? It fixed me right up! see?" He lifts his shirt, displaying the fading scar on his side. "I don't even feel it anymore. Wicked scar, right? They said it'll go away though, which is kinda disappointing . . ."

Kuroo forces a smile, despite the fact that his back feels like it's on fire. "It looks awesome, bro." He lifts his hand for a fist bump, which Bokuto gives happily.

Akaashi lingers behind him, face stoic, hands and forearms covered by long gloves. When he catches Kuroo's eye, he nods briefly, before turning to Kenma.

"How are your wounds, Kenma-kun?"

"They gave me the cream too."

A faint smile flickers over Akaashi's lips. "I'm glad."

Kuroo's gut clenches as he notices the way they're looking at each other, the tenderness in both their gazes. Have they always looked at each other like that? He remembers how Akaashi mentioned they'd bonded auras, and that ugly, sick feeling enters his chest once more. Bokuto wraps his arm around his neck then, pulling him in close.

"How long have you been here? We just arrived yesterday!"

"We've been here about two weeks now," Kuroo says, allowing Bokuto to turn them away from Akaashi and Kenma and lead him back into the palace.

"Man, it's crazy awesome, isn't it? I _told_ you the faeries were real. I told you! And guess what? I'm a faerie too! Well, half-faerie. The king guy is my cousin! I'm royalty!"

Kuroo smirks. "So I guess that officially makes you a _royal_ pain in the ass."

Bokuto punches him in the stomach; Kuroo grabs his arm, twisting it back. Bokuto's grip around his neck tightens, and he pulls him closer, forcing his nose into his armpit. Kuroo gags, digging his free hand into Bokuto's side to tickle him. Squealing, he dances away, loosening his grip on Kuroo's neck long enough for him to grab Bokuto in a similar headlock.

They grapple like this in the hallway, stumbling about, wrestling and tickling, until they run into a wall and fall through it, crashing into the room on the other side. There's a small shriek of terror, and they both freeze. Kuroo lifts his head, tilting it back to survey the room. There's a low table in the center of it, with pillows around it and two faeries seated on the pillows. One is a girl with blonde hair and wide brown eyes, the other is a young man with freckles and brown hair. They're both gaping at him and Bokuto, and the girl looks terrified. She's holding a dripping paintbrush over a wide canvas; it appears they've interrupted her mid-stroke.

Kuroo releases Bokuto and jumps to his feet. Ignoring the throbbing pain spreading across his back, he bows deeply.

"I apologize for the interruption. I had to put my friend in his place."

Bokuto squawks in indignation, leaping to stand. "Hey! _You_ were the one who insulted _me_."

The freckled boy breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing with a faint grin. The girl takes longer to respond, her eyes flitting back and forth rapidly between the two in front of her.

"S-so you're not assassins?" she squeaks after a moment.

Kuroo laughs, shaking his head, as he straightens. "No, my lady. We're not assassins."

She blushes then, deeply. "I-I'm not a lady," she says, shaking her head quickly. "I'm only the queen's handmaiden. M-My name is Yachi Hitoka."

Kuroo bows again, grabbing Bokuto's head to force him to do the same. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Yachi-san. I'm sorry again for the ruckus. We'll leave you to your painting."

He grabs Bokuto's arm then, pulling him out of the room. He notices the damage to the wall and winces, but he's fairly certain they can fix it with magic.

_[you're an idiot.]_

Ignoring the whisper, Kuroo turns to Bokuto, about to ask which room he and Akaashi are staying in, when Bokuto suddenly grabs him around the neck in another hug. Startled, Kuroo stumbles back a step, before he lifts his hand to rest it gently against Bokuto's back.

"Hey . . . what's going on?" he asks softly.

"I think Akaashi's in love with Kozume," Bokuto mutters into his neck. "I don't get it. I thought I was being a good boyfriend. I thought I was doing everything right. But he's gotta kill me, Kuroo. To break the curse he's gotta kill me, and he hesitated when I asked if he'd thought about it. He thought about killing me so he could touch Kozume. I know that he did. I know it."

His voice cracks on a weird mixture of hurt and anger. Kuroo rubs his back, not sure what to say. The assumption that Akaashi is in love with Kenma doesn't seem that far-fetched, and now that he's thinking about it, Kuroo has to wonder if Kenma has feelings for Akaashi in return. They did bond auras, after all . . .

Banishing that thought from his mind, he tries to focus on Bokuto, already feeling tears beginning to soak into the collar of his yukata.

"Bo . . . Bo, come on. You know Akaashi loves you. He wouldn't do anything to hurt you; I believe that. Obviously if he wanted to break the curse badly enough to kill you, he would've done it already. But he hasn't. He chose you over Kozume. You gotta just focus on that."

Bokuto grows still, sniffling softly before he lifts his head. He turns red-rimmed eyes onto Kuroo's face, searching it for a lie. Kuroo keeps his hand on Bokuto's back, continuing to rub it in slow circles.

"I'm so stupid. It's so obvious that he loves Kozume. They're like, closer than anything. I can't believe I didn't realize it. I'm an idiot." He sighs, setting his forehead against Kuroo's.

Kuroo presses back gently. "You're not an idiot. You're in love with him. Love is blind and shit, you know? But even if he does love Kozume, he chose you. Focus on that, Bo. Okay?"

Bokuto sniffs again, before nodding. "Okay," he says softly.

It's so strange to hear him sound so small. Kuroo's used to Bokuto's overdramatic displays of dejection, but this feels altogether different. He's really hurting, and Kuroo feels his chest ache for his friend.

"But what if . . . what if he breaks the curse and decides he wants Kozume instead?" Bokuto asks after a moment.

"I doubt that'll happen, but if it does I promise I'll be here for you, in whatever way you need me to be."

Bokuto pulls back, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand to wipe away the tears. "You mean it?"

Kuroo nods. Taking Bokuto's face in his hand, he brushes his thumb along the edge of his eye, wiping away a lingering tear, before he leans forward to kiss him gently. Bokuto starts in surprise before pressing back. His lower lip trembles, so Kuroo kisses him deeper, moving his hand to the back of his neck and massaging it gently. Bokuto breathes a shivery sigh through his nose, and Kuroo can feel him relaxing. He pulls away then, knocking his forehead briefly against Bokuto's.

There's a sound of a clearing throat, and Kuroo turns to see both Akaashi and Kenma watching them from a few feet away. It's difficult to read either of their expressions, both of their features blank. Kuroo grimaces, taking a step back from Bokuto.

"Sorry, I was just--"

"I know," Akaashi says flatly, cutting him off. "It's fine." He turns his eyes to Bokuto, and his severe expression seems to soften slightly. "Bokuto-san, I'd like to continue the tour of the palace. Will you join me?" He holds out his hand, and Bokuto stares at it a moment, blinking.

"You really want me to?"

Akaashi smiles faintly. "Yes, I really do."

Bokuto's eyes brighten, and he steps forward to take Akaashi's hand. Akaashi leads the two away, leaving Kuroo standing in uncomfortable silence with Kenma, who's studying him with inscrutable features. Not sure what to say, Kuroo decides to just not say anything at all. He turns to go, but Kenma's voice stops him.

"Your back."

Kuroo glances over his shoulder. Kenma draws nearer, reaching out to take his sleeve, his eyes focused on the back of Kuroo's yukata.

"One of your wounds has opened."

Kuroo feels it now, a warm, sticky wetness on his back. "Oh. Thanks. I'll redo my bandages." He starts to move, but Kenma's fingers continue to cling to his sleeve, holding him still.

"You're being stupid."

Kuroo frowns. "What?"

Kenma lifts his gaze, fixing Kuroo with a direct one that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine. "You should use the healing cream."

Kuroo sighs. "Oh. That. Kenma, you don't understa--"

"You think you're going to be any good to anyone while you're in pain and bleeding all over everything?" Kenma's voice is quiet but sharp, and he narrows his eyes slightly. "Whoever you're protecting is going to be in bad shape if they have to deal with a wounded guardian."

_[he makes a good point.]_

_Shut up._

Still, he knows they're both right. Sighing, he passes a hand over his face before nodding. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Fine. I'll use the cream."

He thought that'd be it, so he's surprised when Kenma nods and begins to walk down the hall, hand still clenched around Kuroo's sleeve. He follows him willingly, however, curious as to what's happening. He's pretty sure if he asks he's not going to get an answer, though, so he stays silent and simply allows Kenma to lead them to the fourth floor where their rooms are. He pulls Kuroo into his own room, surprising him so much he nearly trips. Kenma simply gives him a look, and Kuroo quickly rights himself.

"Sit on the bed," Kenma says, releasing him. "And take off your bandages."

Kuroo's heart is threatening to choke him now, but he does what he's told. He sits on the edge of the bed, slipping his arms out of the yukata to allow the folds of cloth to settle around his waist, before he carefully unwinds the bandages from around his torso. It stings, and he hisses softly as his movements irritate the open wound further, but finally he has a pile of bloody bandages on the floor, and Kenma moves to kneel behind him. He can feel the dip of the mattress, and he stiffens instinctively.

"Stay still," Kenma says quietly, and it's somewhat unnerving to hear his voice without seeing him.

Kuroo inhales shakily, letting the air out slowly, as he forces himself to relax. Then he feels a soft touch, a cool, smooth substance against the fire on his back. Instantly it soothes the flare of pain, reducing it to a faint ache that he can easily ignore. Kenma's touch is light, delicate, almost tender it seems, as he spreads the balm over the largest gash on his back that runs from his shoulder to his waist, left there by the demon king's tail.

As much as Kuroo struggles to unwind the knot in his stomach, the silence is stifling. He feels like he needs to say something, to apologize or request an explanation, _anything_ to relieve the tension that's settled in the room. He can feel Kenma's warm breath on his skin, and their proximity is scattering heat through his veins. He closes his eyes, swallowing hard, but all he can see in his mind's eye is Kenma seated on the fountain with the lotus flower behind his ear.

It's still there, tucked into his hair. Kuroo noticed it earlier in the hall.

"That was kind of you," Kenma says, and though his voice is soft it breaks the silence like a scream, and Kuroo nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Uh, what?"

"What you said to Bokuto, before you kissed him. That was kind of you."

Kuroo's heart is racing, panic beginning to spread through his chest, squeezing around his lungs. He's not sure what to say, if he should try to explain himself, or make up an excuse. He didn't know how much Kenma and Akaashi saw or heard, but he guesses that he does now. More guilt sinks into him, and he wonders if this'll make Akaashi hate him even more.

"I'm always this kind," he says finally, and it feels lame. It sounds lame.

Kenma snorts softly. A laugh?

Kuroo twists around, unable to take not being able to see his expression any longer. But Kenma's arranged his face in a blank mask, and he blinks back at Kuroo innocently.

"You don't think so?" Kuroo asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

Kenma tilts his head, studying him. "I think so," he says after a moment. "Though sometimes you hurt people."

Kuroo swallows hard. "I'm not perfect," he says quietly. "I've made a lot of mistakes. But I'm trying to make up for them. I want to be a good person."

Kenma's lips twitch. "You are a good person."

Kuroo shakes his head, twisting around completely then to face Kenma. "I hurt you. You opened yourself up to me, made yourself vulnerable, and I hurt you. I'm sorry for that. I truly am. I'm so sorry, Kenma."

Kenma turns his gaze to his hand suspended in the air between them, fingers slick with the healing cream. "I know."

"Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

Kenma lowers his hand to his lap, still watching it. "I already have."

Kuroo lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Hesitantly, he leans forward, setting his forehead against the top of Kenma's head, his breath ruffling the strands of hair that hang in front of Kenma's face. Closing his eyes, he feels his body relax completely, as that ball of tension in his stomach, that fear, begins to unravel.

He wants to say thank you, somehow, but he doesn't feel like that truly encompasses the relief he feels. It's not enough. Kenma doesn't say anything further, but he's not pulling away either. They sit there for a moment, and though Kuroo wants to reach out and wrap his arms around Kenma, he keeps his hands in his lap.

"I love Bokuto," Kuroo murmurs finally. "He's my best friend. But . . . it's not the same as how I feel about you. You didn't let me say it before. Will you let me say it now?"

Kenma inhales sharply. Several long seconds pass, and Kuroo tries not to panic, tries to keep his breathing calm and even.

"I don't know if I'm ready yet." A simple statement, spoken gently, almost as though he's afraid of hurting Kuroo with the words.

But Kuroo understands. He can't blame Kenma for being wary after what happened. And honestly, he still feels Kenta lingering in the back of his mind, in the hollow spaces of his heart, so it makes sense to proceed cautiously.

It doesn't keep Kuroo's chest from aching, however.

"Okay," he sighs, and he lifts his head to place a small kiss on top of Kenma's head. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((if you're curious about magic and auras in this verse, I made a post explaining it [HERE](http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/post/141095483935/magic-and-aura-explanation-in-the-omam-verse)!))
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	18. home is behind, the world ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of rushed this one so I could have it up before the end of my vacation (I literally have to leave for the airport in about 20 mins ahaha), so sorry if it seems disjointed.

 

 

 

you may not see the ocean,  
but right now we are in the middle of the ocean,  
and we have to keep swimming.

\--tracy kidder, _strength in what remains: a journey of remembrance and forgiveness_

* * *

 

 

Despite the fact that Daichi knows he'll be welcome in Koushi's room, he still feels a twinge of anxiety and guilt, as he steps up to the door. It's only been a few decades since the shift in their relationship, and even though he knows the queen has no problem with it, the fact that there's more than one reason to keep this a secret burns in his mind every time he leaves Koushi's side.

It also doesn't help that Koushi's bodyguard, a tall, blond faerie named Tsukishima Kei, always looks down at him with disdain, bordering on disgust, whenever he approaches Koushi's room.

"He's expecting me," Daichi says, when Tsukishima doesn't move from in front of the door.

"He's with the queen," Tsukishima says, before his lips twist in a frown. "His _wife_."

Daichi cringes inwardly. Koushi explained to him on the first night they spent together that he'd told Shimizu from the start that he loved another and that their marriage was purely political for him. Shimizu apparently accepted this graciously, and it's rumored she has a female lover, though Daichi tries to keep his nose out of her business.

The only people who know about his clandestine relationship with Koushi are Shimizu, Daichi's bodyguard Azumane Asahi, and Koushi's bodyguards: Tsukishima, and the younger, freckled one Yamaguchi Tadashi. Daichi has an inkling that Ennoshita suspects something, but the captain of the guard hasn't mentioned it to him.

In the eyes of the people what they're doing is wrong. Koushi married Shimizu to bind the kingdoms together, yes, but the people also expect an heir. Daichi isn't entirely sure what they plan on doing about that, seeing as neither seems to be in a particular hurry to consummate their marriage. Secretly, Daichi feels gratified that Koushi insisted on not lying with Shimizu, saying it wouldn't be right when he felt nothing but friendship toward her. Shimizu agreed, saying she felt the same.

But that doesn't stop Daichi from feeling some guilt, knowing he's the main reason Koushi hasn't fulfilled one of his most important duties as king.

Still, it's none of Tsukishima's business, so he pushes down the urge to slink away, straightening his shoulders and looking the young faerie in the eye, though he has to tilt his head back slightly.

"Step aside, Tsukishima. That's an order."

Though Daichi technically isn't an authority over Tsukishima, his high rank as Guardian of the Key makes him a valuable piece in the Karasuno chess board. A bishop to Tsukishima's pawn.

Tsukishima clicks his tongue with a sharp "tch" but steps away from the door, allowing Daichi to slide it open and slip inside.

The royal suite is large, taking up almost the entire fifth floor of the palace. It's sectioned off into smaller rooms with rice paper accordion walls, each painted with flowery scenes. Daichi can't help but smile fondly when he sees them, knowing Shimizu's own handmaiden Hitoka painted them for her. The room that greets Daichi first is a lounge area, with pillows and ottomans set up in a circle around a kotatsu table, one of the few more modern ideas Koushi borrowed from the human realm. To his left is the study, which holds Koushi's library and Shimizu's music sanctuary. To his right is the bedroom, which holds a large shiki futon on a raised platform, covered in silk sheets and fluffy pillows.

This is where Daichi heads now, and he can hear soft voices speaking from behind the partition. He raps his knuckles on the wood lightly, waits for the call to enter, and steps into the room with a small bow.

"My king, my queen," he says respectfully. "I hope the evening finds you well."

As he straightens, he sees both Koushi and Shimizu smiling warmly at him, though Koushi's eyes sparkle in a way that Shimizu's do not. This doesn't bother Daichi the way it used to, knowing now how reserved and private a person Shimizu is. She used to intimidate him, and for a long while he was afraid to even breathe wrong in her presence, but he now knows her well enough to step forward and take her hand to place a kiss upon her fingers.

"I apologize for the interruption, my queen, but might I steal your husband for a moment?"

Shimizu nods, still smiling. "I was just about to take my leave," she admits. Turning, she places her hand on Koushi's arm, kissing his cheek gently. "Take all the time you need. I most likely will not return until the morning."

Koushi nods, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "Sleep well," he says, and then his lips shift into a sly smile. "Say hello to Hitoka-chan for me."

Shimizu arches an eyebrow. "Who says I'm sending for her?"

"Is there anyone else?"

Shimizu's lips twitch. "Goodnight."

She gives Daichi's shoulder a light touch as she passes him, heading for the hidden door in the floorboards near the corner of the room. He knows it descends into a separate chamber designed specifically so Shimizu could have her own space to entertain those she wanted out of the sight of prying eyes. He doubts anyone knows of its existence, save for himself and Koushi.

The atmosphere shifts almost tangibly once the door shuts behind Shimizu. Daichi turns his gaze to his king, noting the looseness of his yukata, how it's open at the chest, his pale skin visible. He swallows hard, trying not to get distracted, because he actually has something he needs to discuss with Koushi.

"My king, we need to talk about your plans for the newcomers you've brought," he says, attempting to stay formal, even as Koushi moves toward him with a tantalizing sway of his hips.

"There's no need to be so proper, Daichi," Koushi says with a soft laugh. "You know you can call me Koushi when we're alone." He reaches up, fingers lingering along the line of Daichi's jaw.

Daichi tries to keep his breaths even, though he feels slightly dizzy at Koushi's scent. He must have bathed recently, because there's the smell of citrus lingering on his skin. Daichi takes Koushi's hand, turning his head to kiss the inside of his wrist lightly.

"Koushi," he murmurs against the soft skin, feeling the quickening of his king's pulse.

"Yes, Daichi?" Koushi replies breathlessly.

Daichi looks back at Koushi's face. "We need to talk about your plans--"

"Daichi!" Koushi exclaims, disappointment written all over his features. He pulls away and turns toward the bed. Daichi watches, a stone settling in his stomach, as Koushi flops down onto the futon and grabs a pillow to growl into it in frustration.

"I'm sorry, I know you don't like talking about business here, but if there's something going on that you don't want anyone else to know, you should know that you can trust me. I can help you."

Daichi approaches the bed, sitting on the edge of it and reaching out to lay his hand lightly on the small of Koushi's back. "It just . . . it feels like you're shutting me out, more than usual, I mean. Keeping secrets can be dangerous, Koushi. I just want to know what's going on so I can better protect you."

Koushi turns onto his side, looking up at Daichi with a raised brow, his lips twitching. "You're not my guardian, Daichi. Your duty is to the Key." His eyes flicker down briefly to the cord around Daichi's neck, before they flit back up to meet Daichi's gaze. "You're its protector, not mine."

"Why can't I protect both?" Daichi asks, moving to lie down on his side in front of Koushi so they're eye to eye. Koushi meets his gaze, and his eyes are unfathomable hazel pools, as mysterious to him now as they were when they were children. Despite how close they've grown, Daichi gets the feeling he'll never be able to read Koushi completely. It's something he's accepted, but he's not entirely happy about it.

Koushi lifts his hand, running his fingers through Daichi's hair. He can feel the gentle scrape of his nails and it's soothing. He leans into the touch, brushing his lips across Koushi's inner forearm as he does.

"There may come a time when you can't protect me," Koushi says softly, his eyes no longer focused on Daichi's. They watch his hand instead, following its movements, as he strokes Daichi's head.

Daichi's chest clenches. He doesn't want to think about that. Doesn't even want to entertain the notion for a second. He frowns faintly, wondering if Koushi has seen something. Since they were little, Koushi's always been cagey about his gift. He told Daichi once that he fears speaking about his visions might in turn bring them into existence. Instead he tries to guide people toward a better future, regardless of what his visions say. Sometimes he's able to change things, sometimes he's not. But he never tells anyone which is which.

On rare occasions, he may tell Daichi what he saw, but only after it's happened. If it's particularly bad, Daichi will hold him as he cries. He knows that Koushi keeps things from him because he's afraid; afraid of failure, afraid of being inadequate, of being a bad king. But the fear doesn't stop him from trying his best, and it's one of the many things Daichi admires about him.

And he never minds comforting Koushi.

But that doesn't stop that knot of trepidation from coiling tight inside him whenever Koushi gets like this.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," Daichi says firmly, reaching up to take Koushi's hand in his, stalling it in his hair. "You always say the future's not set into stone. It shifts and changes, sometimes with only a split second decision."

Sitting up on his elbow, he turns Koushi onto his back, resting his hand then against the side of his face, stroking his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. The moonlight filters in from the window, illuminating his delicate features. His hair shines silver, shimmering. Daichi reaches out with his aura, stroking it along Koushi's until they interlock, become one. It's as easy as breathing, and Koushi inhales sharply, lips parting.

"This is my decision, Sugawara Koushi," Daichi says solemnly, feeling the heat of Koushi's aura press against his, feels his own press back. His body shudders under the push and release, the pulse that vibrates through his entire body. "I will always protect you. No matter what."

He sets his forehead against Koushi's, watching as Koushi closes his eyes before shutting his own. Their breaths mingle, shivering on each exhale. Koushi's hand is still in his hair, and his other comes up around to rest on Daichi's back. He runs it down Daichi's spine slowly; fingertips leaving tingling sparks of fire in their wake, despite the barrier of cloth.

"I can feel your fear," Koushi murmurs, his breathing labored as their auras continue to pulsate around them.

"I always fear for you," Daichi admits on a breathless whisper. He grins faintly. "Ever since we were children and you risked your life to save that nest of crow eggs."

Koushi laughs, though it gets caught in his throat, breaking slightly. "You were terrified I would fall from that tree."

"I was."

"But you would've caught me if I fell."

"Of course."

Daichi lifts his head, kissing Koushi's forehead, then his nose, then jaw, before finally coming to his lips. He hovers there a moment, feels Koushi arch into him, fingers gripping the material of his yukata. Daichi smiles, able to sense Koushi's impatience. He moves his hand down, slowly untying the belt holding Koushi's yukata in place. He slips his hand inside the folds of cloth, letting it rest on Koushi's bare hip, stroking the warm skin along his hipbone leisurely.

Koushi gasps, lifting his hips into the touch. His fingers curl into Daichi's hair tightly, but when he tries to pull Daichi down for a kiss, Daichi resists, fighting a grin.

A pout forms on Koushi's lips, and he opens his eyes to give Daichi a very pointed look.

"Stop being a tease, Daichi."

"Yes, my king," Daichi says around a quiet laugh, as Koushi releases his hair to slap his shoulder.

He moves to kiss Koushi still smiling, and has to rearrange his features in order to kiss him properly, pressing in slow and deep. Koushi melts beneath him, immediately loosening his hold on Daichi's hair, as a low, contented moan vibrates his throat.

Daichi resists the urge to smile again.

 

 

***

 

King Sugawara wanted Iwaizumi and Tooru to leave the next day; however he says now that King Ushijima isn't answering his messages, and he wants to be sure they'll be well received and not seen as a threat. So while Sugawara continues to attempt communication with his sister kingdom, Iwaizumi gets himself checked out by a doctor and cleared to resume his training. He feels antsy sitting around doing nothing, and after two weeks of rest he's fairly certain he's ready to begin working out again.

He asks a passing servant if he's allowed to use the training room inside the palace. Though it's a nice day outside, he'd like to use the equipment provided in the room. The servant nods and says that as a guest he's welcome to any of the palace facilities, so Iwaizumi thanks him and enters the room.

There's a wide window set in the far wall, shining light onto the empty space in the middle of the room. Along the wall are racks set up with different wooden swords, along with targets, bows and arrows, spears, and a few sand bag dummies on poles. Iwaizumi slips out of his yukata, folding it and setting it on the floor against the wall, now dressed only in a pair of thin jinbei pants (not having wanted to go commando under his yukata, or wear the loincloth provided in the wardrobe. Tooru enjoyed teasing Iwaizumi about wearing one and paraded in front of him in the skimpy undergarment soon after they arrived, until Iwaizumi grew so red he had to leave the room).

He begins with basic stretches and exercises, gently helping his muscles relearn the movements after two weeks. Consider how active he was before this, it doesn't take long for his body to loosen up, and after a couple sprints around the room he feels ready to begin. He pulls a wooden sword down from one of the racks, testing its weight and the feel of it in his hand. He intends to be armed while traveling with Tooru to Shiratorizawa, and while he'd prefer his crossbow or a broadsword, a katana will have to do.

Slowly, Iwaizumi moves through the different stances. The wooden katana is lighter than he's used to, making him swing too fast and lose balance. He adjusts, compensating for the lack of familiar weight, and feels more comfortable with it. Briefly, he wishes Tooru was here to duel with him, but he's off at the palace onsen, getting treated like he's royalty himself. He begged Iwaizumi to join him, but Iwaizumi doesn't feel like soaking in water. He needs to be moving, expelling all the pent up energy that's been building the past two weeks.

And he's not sure he's ready to face Tooru wielding a sword again.

He doesn't blame Tooru for what happened, he honestly doesn't. But that doesn't stop the nightmares, the dull ache that spreads through his chest as he sees Tooru in front of him, his sword buried in his ribcage, piercing his heart, over and over again. He's not sure what he'll feel if he looks at Tooru holding a blade in front of him now, even if it's just a wooden one.

They haven't really spoken about it, aside from Iwaizumi's constant reassurance that what happened to him wasn't Tooru's fault. Though, as he's had time to consider it, he realizes that in the grand scheme of things it _was_ Tooru's fault, at least partially. He orchestrated the entire thing from beginning to end. He chose to open the Hell Mouth, he chose to keep Iwaizumi out of the loop, he chose to fuck him and then run away like a coward.

Iwaizumi drags out a dummy, setting it up in front of him. He scowls at it, lowering into a stance before attacking it at different angles. It's not the same as dueling a person or The Punisher. He quickly grows bored with simply hitting a sand bag, so he tries to use his imagination, the way Tooru always tells him to do when they have to use blank targets.

He draws up an image in his mind, a demon, no . . . a man. In his forties, with cold eyes and a mean smile. Tooru's father. Despite knowing that the best way to fight in battle is to keep a cool head, Iwaizumi feels his anger building the longer he envisions Tooru's father standing before him. His swings become erratic, frantic; a yell bursts forth from his lips, unintentionally loud. He slams the wooden sword into the bag again and again, seeing himself beating Tooru's father down into the ground.

A sound near the door causes him to whirl around, and he's throwing the sword like a spear before he can register what the sound is. It sails through the air, tearing through the rice paper wall and clattering on the floor. In front of the wall stands a boy, standing stiffly, his amber eyes wide in a pale face framed by soft hair, dyed blonde. Iwaizumi freezes, his senses returning to him, and he quickly holds up his hands.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

The boy slowly glances toward the tear in the wall, before turning back to Iwaizumi. He blinks, tilting his head, his shoulders relaxing, as he surveys Iwaizumi with a calculating gaze.

"Are _you_?"

Iwaizumi reaches up to rub the back of his neck. Something about this kid seems familiar, but he can't quite place where he's seen him before.

"Yeah," he says after a moment. He exhales slowly, releasing the tension in his body as much as he can, feeling now the ache in his muscles. "Yeah, sorry. I just have a lot of . . . anger to work through, I guess."

The boy blinks again. "You were at the Hell Mouth." He frowns faintly. "You died."

Iwaizumi stares. "I . . . uh, yeah. I did. You were there?" Is that where he recognizes him?

The boy looks away, turning his gaze toward the sand bag on the pole behind Iwaizumi. "I think you killed it." His lips twist in a faint smirk, and Iwaizumi turns to see that the bag is ripped open, sand spilling out to form a pile on the floor.

"Shit." Iwaizumi sighs, running a hand through his hair.

The boy steps forward, holding out his palm. Without a word, he stops the flow of sand and then lifts it back into the bag, along with the sand gathered on the floor. Once every grain is picked up, he seals the bag, invisible strings sewing the cloth back together until it's whole once more, like it was never torn.

Iwaizumi turns his gaze back onto the boy. "That's incredible," he says. "But how did you do that without saying anything? I thought only demons could use wordless magic. Or, I guess faeries can too?"

The boy shakes his head. "I'm not a faerie. Just a witch." He lowers his hand, flexing it slightly.

"Well, thanks for helping out, uh . . ."

The boy's lips twitch again. "Kozume."

Iwaizumi inclines his head. "Iwaizumi."

Kozume's eyes flicker down over Iwaizumi's chest briefly, and Iwaizumi fights a blush. He steps over to where he left his yukata, intending to put it on, but Kozume makes a small noise of protest. Iwaizumi's face reddens further, as he turns to look at the boy. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the kid can't be much younger than him. Perhaps they're even the same age, though Kozume is shorter, fortunately.

"You don't have to leave," Kozume says then, and he tilts his head again, studying Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi isn't sure what he wants, but then Kozume steps over to the wall of swords and takes one down. He seems to fumble under the weight of it for a moment, perhaps not having correctly gauged it. Then he turns and holds it out to Iwaizumi.

"You . . . want me to show you how to wield a katana?" Iwaizumi asks, unsure if he's reading the situation correctly.

Kozume looks at him, still silent but not contradicting him either. Iwaizumi rubs the back of his head for a moment before nodding. "Uh, yeah, sure."

He steps forward, taking Kozume's hands and readjusting them on the hilt of the sword. "Okay, you want to stand in a slight crouch; stay on the balls of your feet so you can move quickly." He demonstrates next to Kozume until he mimics the stance. "Yeah, good. Okay, so what you're going to do is shift forward and swing across like this."

Kozume follows his movements, as he goes through the different forms. Sometimes he has to help Kozume adjust, shifting a leg or an arm, twisting his hips. He's standing behind Kozume with his hand on his waist, showing him how to drop his hip to turn into an offensive form from a defensive one, when he hears a familiar scoff from the doorway.

"Well, isn't this cozy."

Iwaizumi feels Kozume stiffen against him. Lifting his head, he frowns over at where Tooru is leaning against the frame of the door, arms crossed, looking at the two of them with disdain. His hair is damp, curling at the edges around his neck, and he's wearing a black cotton yukata, open at the chest.

"What's that look for?" Iwaizumi grunts, releasing Kozume and taking a step back.

Tooru ignores him, his eyes on the boy in front of Iwaizumi. "Can't you have your own boyfriend show you these things, Kenma-kun?" his voice is lighthearted, but the venom beneath his tone is audible.

Iwaizumi frowns, stepping over to Tooru, as Kozume lowers his sword. "Leave him alone," he says flatly, not about to put up with Tooru's shit after the morning he's had. "He wasn't doing anything wrong."

Tooru rolls his eyes. "How can you be so _dense_ , Iwa-chan? He's flirting with you."

Iwaizumi's frown deepens into a scowl. "No, he wasn't." He glances at Kozume, who looks back at him blankly, his expression completely unreadable despite the paleness of his features. Iwaizumi feels a strange fluttering in his stomach, suddenly unsure of his bold statement. He sighs in aggravation, scruffing his hair with his hand.

"Even if he was, it was harmless. Nothing happened. I was just showing him fighting forms. Lay off."

He glares at Tooru until he wrinkles his nose. "Fine." Turning back to Kozume, he waves at him dismissively. "What are you still doing here? Shoo."

Kozume jumps, the wooden katana clattering to the floor, before he turns and quickly runs off.

"You're such an asshole," Iwaizumi grumbles, moving to pick up the sword and set it on the rack. Something's bugging him about the encounter though. Kozume didn't just seem nervous in the face of Tooru's annoyance. He seemed _scared_. The way he stiffened when he first heard Tooru's voice spoke of alarm, fear.

He remembers what Tooru called him. _"Kenma-kun."_

"Do you know that guy?" he asks, turning back around to face Tooru, who's studying the tear in the wall from earlier.

Tooru starts, biting his lip briefly before smoothing his face over in a careful mask. "I met him earlier."

"That's a lie," Iwaizumi states flatly.

Tooru turns large eyes onto him. "No, it isn't." His eyes roam over Iwaizumi slowly, and he pastes on his best, disarming smile. It's the one that Iwaizumi wants to punch the most. "Iwa-chan is so sweaty from his workout. I'll show you the onsen! It's super pretty and relaxing!"

He bounces forward to take Iwaizumi's hand, but Iwaizumi steps out of reach.

"How do you know Kozume?" he asks flatly. "He mentioned my death, so he had to have been at the Hell Mouth. He's a witch . . . did you use him to open the Hell Mouth? Is that how you were able to do it?"

Tooru purses his lips, not answering, but that's enough of a response for Iwaizumi.

"Why is he so scared of you? Did you do something to him?"

"Maybe he's simply intimidated by my good looks."

In two long strides Iwaizumi has Tooru by the shoulder, shoved up against the frame of the wall. "What did you do to him?" he asks in a growl. "How did you open that Hell Mouth, Oikawa?"

"I-I had Mattsun and Makki kidnap him," Tooru says, eyes wide. "But they didn't hurt him! They just kept him in Makki's room until it was time. They fed him and gave him clean clothes and everything. He was fine!"

"How the hell did you get them to agree on a kidnapping scheme to bring about the apocalypse?" Iwaizumi asks through clenched teeth, though he's starting to put two-and-two together himself.

"They didn't . . . exactly agree," Tooru murmurs, and this time he lowers his gaze. "I used mind control. Apparently I can do that . . ."

"When did this happen?" Iwaizumi growls, but he knows. He already knows.

"The night before I opened it," Tooru admits quietly, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Iwaizumi releases him and takes a step back. He's not sure what his emotions are doing. He feels all the same anger, hurt, and betrayal that he did after he woke up that morning to find Tooru gone with that apology note in his place. He wants to hit something, but with Tooru slumped against the frame, holding his shoulder and looking pathetic, he can't bring himself to hit _him_.

Though he sorely wants to.

"You mean to tell me, that while we were . . . while you . . . that that same night you had Makki and Mattsun, our best friends, under mind control taking care of a kid you kidnapped in order to use his magic to open the Hell Mouth?"

Tooru's started to sniffle, but Iwaizumi's too far gone to care about tears right now. He knows he'll feel guilty later, but he turns away, moving to walk past him to exit the room. He lingers in the doorway, clenching his hands into fists.

"Iwa-chan . . . I-I'm--"

Iwaizumi turns his head away. "I already know you were saying goodbye that night; that you thought it could be our last night together. I was angry at you for not telling me. For going off to war without me. But it was also a distraction, wasn't it? So I wouldn't ask questions about what you were up to. So I wouldn't know what you'd done to our friends, to an innocent kid." He laughs derisively. "I'm such an idiot. I knew you were up to something, but I let myself get distracted. I shouldn't have let--" He stops, shaking his head.

"Iwa-chan."

"Don't follow me."

He walks away quickly and doesn't look back.

 

 

***

 

Kenma knew it was a bad idea to walk in on Iwaizumi as he trained. He nearly lost his head for his curiosity. But after seeing Iwaizumi's physical strength, Kenma couldn't help but be envious. He's here because he wants to grow stronger in his magic, but it'd help to be stronger physically as well. To be able to fight when his magic is depleted. He knows he could have asked Kuroo, but he honestly wasn't sure if Kuroo would agree to teach him how to fight without magic. He showed him how to throw punches, but that's about it.

So Kenma figured Iwaizumi might be a nice alternative.

He'd been surprised to see him there, but thought maybe the faeries picked up his dead body and brought him here, reviving him with some sort of powerful magic to become a faerie himself. A form of heaven, for him. Kenma has never seen anyone come back from the dead before. He knows it's possible using demon contracts, but with pure magic?

_I want to be that strong._

The ability to bring a person back from the dead . . . that's a power he knows even Kenta didn't have.

He wasn't expecting to see Oikawa Tooru.

The minute he heard his voice the memories of what happened at the Hell Mouth came flooding back to him. He can feel Tooru's hands in his even now, the push of his magic, sharp red fire searing through his veins, burning him from the inside out. His chest tightens, his vision narrowing as he feels panic grip him. The Hell Mouth is opening, waves of dark, painful demon magic surging over him, knocking him down.

He stumbles, falling against a pillar to steady himself. He lowers to the floor, pulling his legs to his chest, as he wraps his arms tightly around them. Stifling a whimper, he buries his face in his knees. The magic is inside him, pulling him apart. It's tearing at his organs, ripping through his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself that it's all in his head, he's fine, he's safe. But the pain clouds his mind.

He fights against the blackness with his own magic, a battle within himself. He imagines golden katanas slicing through the thick, black smoke. But after every strike it billows back, stronger than before. He feels weak, small, alone. He wants Keiji. He wants Mori. He'd even take Lev.

He wants Kuroo.

"Kenma-kun? Kenma!"

Warm hands cup his face, and he feels silk against his cheeks. Lifting his head, he finds himself staring into Keiji's deep green eyes. They stare back at him, brimming with concern. Kenma gasps, hurtling himself forward to wrap his arms around Keiji's waist, heedless of his friend's curse. He clings to Keiji's yukata, burying his face in the soft material at his chest. Keiji rocks back onto his heels, stiffening, but then he slowly lays his hands on Kenma's back, not returning the hug, but holding him just the same.

"What's wrong? What's happening?" Keiji asks quietly.

"I-I need . . ." Kenma doesn't waste time trying to explain. He reaches for Keiji's magic and finds the barrier his friend always keeps carefully built around him blocking his way. He hurtles through it, shattering it with his panic, his desperation. Keiji isn't expecting this kind of attack, and his walls quickly crumble, as he gasps aloud.

"Kenma!"

Kenma squeezes his eyes shut, clinging to Keiji, siphoning his magic and drawing it into him to crush the darkness. He feels a rush of warmth, and his fingers tingle with the static of the exchange. He envisions a golden wave crashing over the black smoke, devouring it, driving it away. Slowly, his rapid heartbeat begins to slow, his panic easing. He relaxes his grip on Keiji, simply resting against him, as he releases Keiji's magic.

Gently, Keiji pushes him away, holding onto his shoulders and looking into his face.

"What was that?" he asks, his expression stern though his voice remains soft.

Kenma ducks his head, staring at the floorboards between them, allowing for his hair to hide his face. "I don't . . . know. I don't know. I'm sorry." He bites his lip hard, curling his fingers into fists on his thighs. Guilt replaces the panic, settling like a cold stone in his stomach.

Keiji's gloved fingers push back his hair, tucking the strands behind his ears, before he moves one hand down to his chin, gripping it to lift his head. Kenma lets him, though he finds he can't hold Keiji's gaze for long, and he lowers his eyes.

"Kenma-kun, if you ever need my magic, you only have to ask. You don't need to steal it."

Kenma closes his eyes, fighting the burn of tears in them. "I know."

Keiji's grip loosens, and he moves his hand to gently run his thumb across Kenma's eyelid, wiping away a tear that escapes and lingers on his lashes. "Can you stand?"

Kenma nods, and Keiji takes his arms, helping him to his feet. He sighs, keeping his eyes closed as he leans back against the pillar.

"Did I scream? It felt like I was screaming," Kenma says softly, wondering how Keiji found him.

He opens his eyes to find Keiji shaking his head. "I felt your distress," he admits. "Your aura was agitated." He lowers his hands from Kenma's arms and takes a step back. "Is something wrong with your magic, Kenma?" He's watching him closely; eyes troubled like a stormy green sea.

Kenma licks his lips, swallowing hard. "I don't know," he admits quietly.

Keiji hesitates before taking a step closer. "May I . . . touch your aura?"

It's so reminiscent of another time Keiji asked him the same question, that Kenma feels heat flood his cheeks. But he nods, knowing that if something's wrong, he should probably find out what it is. Keiji could reach his aura from where he's standing, but he takes one step closer so that he's hovering above Kenma. He lifts his hand, setting it on the pillar beside Kenma's head, leaning in until their faces are inches apart.

Kenma can feel his breath slide past his burning cheek, and he lowers his gaze, doing his best to keep his heart rate normal. Keiji closes his eyes, and Kenma feels the warmth of his aura envelope him like a comforter on a cold, rainy day. It strokes along his body, his aura, like a caress, setting his blood on fire. They haven't bonded auras since the first time it happened on accident, but Kenma knows what to expect now. He tries his best to stay still, to not arch into Keiji, to keep his hands at his sides. To that end, he curls his fingers into the fabric of his yukata.

Keiji breathes a shaky sigh, and he tilts his head so that his lips are beside Kenma's ear.

"I'm going to break this curse, Kenma-kun. Once I do, will you permit me to kiss you?"

Kenma inhales sharply, eyes growing wide. Keiji's aura shivers around him, searching to lock onto his. He parts his lips, not sure how to answer, and Keiji's aura fits into place, merging their auras into one. The pulse of magic trembles through him, and he barely manages to stifle the moan that escapes. They're only bonded a second, however, before Keiji's flinching away, severing their connection, as he takes a step back.

Kenma gasps at the sudden chill that covers him in the absence of Keiji's warmth. When he lifts his head to look into Keiji's face, his blood grows cold altogether. There's confusion written across his features, and a concerned frown follows it.

"Kenma-kun, have you bonded auras with Kuroo-san?"

Kenma blinks, startled by the question. "N-No."

Keiji's frown deepens. "When you opened the Hell Mouth, did you bond with the half-demon?"

Kenma's eyes widen further. "No!"

Keiji purses his lips, deep in thought. Kenma's heart pounds quickly in his chest. Did something happen to him at the Hell Mouth? Is he tainted somehow? Did Tooru's magic do something to him?

Before either of them can speak again, however, a shout down the hall breaks through the tension. They turn in unison to see the young, freckled guard (Kenma thinks his name is Yamaguchi Tadashi) waving to them, as he approaches.

"I apologize for the interruption," he says, bowing deeply. "But Sugawara-sama requests both your presence in the throne room. Your friends are already there."

Keiji nods, but Kenma stiffens.

"Which friends?" he asks, hoping he doesn't mean Tooru.

"Um, the spiky haired one with the big gold eyes, and the one with the crazy hair who has a creepy grin," Yamaguchi replies.

Kenma relaxes. Bokuto and Kuroo. Keiji is watching him, so Kenma gives him a quick nod of reassurance.

"After you," Keiji says, gesturing for the guard to lead them.

"R-Right!" Yamaguchi salutes, before turning and heading down the hall.

Keiji follows, and Kenma stays close behind. He doesn't look to the side to see if anyone else witnessed his breakdown. He hopes nobody had and that, if anyone did, that news of it wouldn't reach Tooru.

He can't know that Kenma is weak.

 

Kuroo and Bokuto are standing in front of the dais in the throne room. King Sugawara stands in front of them, flanked by his bodyguards. Guardian Sawamura stands beside him, with his own guard close behind. Yamaguchi quickly takes his place next to the tall bond faerie guard, and Keiji joins Bokuto, taking his hand.

Kenma steps up beside Kuroo, who gives him a quick grin. His expression shifts to concern almost immediately, however, and he ducks his head to whisper in his ear while Sawamura speaks briefly with the king.

"Are you okay?"

Kenma nods, moving to slip his hand into Kuroo's. Kuroo clasps his hand in return, giving it a small squeeze. "I'm pretty sure those two are fucking," he murmurs, nodding to Yamaguchi and the blond guard.

Kenma rolls his eyes, as King Sugawara turns back and clears his throat to speak.

"I asked you all here because I want to make clear the reasons why I brought you to my kingdom," he says, giving them all a faint smile. He turns first to Bokuto. "Now, Kou--"

"Pardon me, your majesty," Keiji says abruptly. "Forgive my interruption, but I request that you not use our given names in the present company."

Kenma feels Kuroo stiffen beside him.

"What do you mean by 'present company'?" he asks in a low voice, eyes narrowing.

Keiji fixes Kuroo with a stare, his expression a blank, polite mask. "I believe you know exactly what I mean, Kuroo-san. You have a demon's spirit inside of you, do you not? And names hold power. The fae might not have issue with people using their given names, but I for one don't trust you to know mine or Bokuto-san's."

"Do you honestly think I'd do anything to hurt Bokuto?" Kuroo asks indignantly.

"How do we know you're in control of that demon at all times?" Keiji asks calmly.

Bokuto glances between the two with wide eyes, unsure how to respond to this development. Kenma sighs, wishing the two would stop being so troublesome.

Kuroo releases Kenma's hand and takes a step forward, pushing up the sleeves of his yukata. "You want to test my control? Come on, let's go. I'll take you right now."

Keiji raises an eyebrow. "One touch from me and you'll be on the floor screaming in agony as your flesh boils and melts from your bones."

Bokuto squawks. "Akaashi!"

"Calm down, all of you," Sugawara says sharply.

Keiji turns away from Kuroo, who remains where he is, hands clenched into fists. Kenma's not sure what to do, so he simply does nothing, curling his fingers into the cuffs of his own yukata sleeves. The guards beside Sugawara have their hands on their katanas, tense and ready to move forward on Sugawara's command, but he waves at them to stand down.

"And here I assumed you were all friends," the king says with a soft sigh. He shakes his head. "I hope you both understand that I will be very upset if I find my guests have killed each other."

"I apologize for my outburst," Keiji says, bowing deeply.

When Sugawara turns to face Kuroo, he bows as well, though his jaw is tight. "I apologize as well," he says, and despite the edge to his voice he sounds sincere.

"As I was saying," Sugawara says, as Kuroo moves back to stand beside Kenma, scowling at the floor. "Bokuto, you're my cousin which means you have faerie blood and magical potential. I wish to teach you how to use your untapped abilities, if you'll permit me."

Bokuto's eyes grow wider still. "Fuck yeah, I wanna learn magic!" he exclaims, and Sawamura cringes at the profanity.

Sugawara simply looks amused. "I was hoping you'd say that," he says. He turns to look at Kenma then, nodding slightly. "As for you, Kozume, I saw what you did at the Hell Mouth. That was incredibly powerful magic you wielded, but I also saw how weak it made you afterwards. I'd like you to stay with us for a time to grow in your skills and strengthen them. I'd also like to observe you, since I know operating near such dark magic can take a toll on you."

Kenma bites his lip, remembering his attack from earlier. "If you're worried about dark magic, why is Oikawa Tooru here?" he asks flatly, and he feels everyone's eyes fix on him. He shrinks back slightly, lowering his gaze and suddenly wishing he hadn't spoken.

"I need him for a specific task," Sugawara replies unconcernedly. "Don't worry; he won't be here much longer."

Kenma lifts his head to find Kuroo watching him, worry lining his brow. Kenma quickly looks back down, not about to explain anything here.

"Akaashi," Sugawara says, turning to him next. "You came here because I said I would help you find a different way to break your curse. I believe I have found a way, though it includes fetching something from the uncharted lands in Shiratorizawa. It's uncharted because King Ushijima has covered it with traps and spells barring entry to his kingdom unless you travel directly through on the main road. If you choose to make this journey it will be perilous and difficult, and I can't afford to send any of my faerie guards with you. You'll have to go alone. Are you sure you want to break your curse using this alternative method?"

Keiji lifts his chin, barely hesitating before he answers. "I'm sure."

Kenma shivers, his chest constricting. Bokuto cries out in dismay, glancing from the king to Keiji and back again.

"Hey, hey, wait," he says, holding up his hand. "He has to go on this super dangerous quest _alone_? No way! That's not happening. I'm gonna go with him!"

Keiji purses his lips. "Bokuto-san, you don't know how to fight or use magic. You'll be safer here."

Bokuto's face falls. "But _Akaashi_ . . ."

"I can give you a scrying glass so you'll be able to communicate while you're gone," Sugawara offers.

Keiji nods. "Thank you."

Bokuto still looks as though he wants to protest, his hands curling into fists, as his shoulders slump. Kenma feels his heart in his throat, pounding rapidly, and he feels somewhat dizzy. Without stopping to really think about it, he quickly latches onto Kuroo's arm.

"Go with him," he says softly.

Kuroo starts, looking down at him in surprise. "What?" he asks.

Kenma bites his lip, looking over at Keiji who's watching him with a guarded expression. Kenma knows this is probably a bad idea, but the thought of Keiji walking into danger alone makes his skin prickle with fear. He turns his gaze back onto Kuroo.

"Please."

Kuroo sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing between Keiji and Kenma. "You _do_ realize that he just threatened to kill me. I highly doubt he wants me anywhere near him."

Kenma looks across at Keiji once more, giving him his best pleading eyes. Keiji's lips tighten into a thin line. Bokuto glances between the three, confusion written over his features.

"Wait, what's going on?"

Sugawara clears his throat. "It's not a bad idea," he says. "Kuroo has a good fighting sense and quick reflexes, as well as the magical ability to combat Shiratorizawa's traps. I don't think you'd find a better person to travel with you."

Kenma nods. "And he has experience with traveling while using stealth."

Understanding dawns on Bokuto, and he whirls on Kuroo, grabbing his shoulders. "Dude! You have to go with Akaashi. You gotta look after him for me, man. Make sure he gets back safe, you know?"

Kuroo sighs. "I don't think he wants me to go with him, Bo."

Bokuto turns to Keiji, eyes wide. "Akaashi, come on. It's _Kuroo_." He says this like that should be enough to persuade him.

Kenma holds his breath, watching as the two men stare at each other. He knows how much they dislike each other. He knows how much Keiji distrusts Kuroo, but if he's his best bet at returning safely then he _has_ to let him go.

Keiji sighs, the tension in his shoulders releasing. "For you, Bokuto-san; if it'll put your mind at ease, I'll allow him to go with me."

Kuroo grimaces. "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't give in," he admits with a tight smile.

Keiji simply looks at him. Kenma breathes, and Kuroo turns to look down at him, eyes searching his expression.

"I'm doing this for you," he says quietly. "Because I know how much you care about him."

Kenma swallows hard. "Thank you," he says softly.

Sugawara claps his hands together. "So! Akaashi, Kuroo, once we get everything ready for your journey, I'll have one of my guards escort you to the Karasuno border. I wish you both the best of luck."

"Thank you," Keiji says, bowing slightly.

"We're gonna need it," Kuroo mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _might_ be persuaded to continue that daisuga scene in a side story if enough people wish it to exist. ;)
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	19. on your promise i will stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to get this up earlier than I thought I would! Thank you guys for all your amazing comments! I can't believe this has reached over 1000 kudos! I feel very blessed, and I'm so so so grateful. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

have enough courage to trust love one more time  
and always one more time.

\--maya angelou

* * *

 

 

They make preparations to leave the next morning. Sugawara gives Akaashi a detailed description of the object he's looking for. Apparently there's a root that grows in this land that contains a liquid that, when enchanted correctly, can substitute for the blood of a specific person in a spell that requires a sacrifice. Kuroo thinks it sounds sketchy, but after seeing the hopeful look in Kenma's eyes as he listened to the faerie king, he's not about to bring down the mood with his skepticism.

_[you realize you most likely won't come out of this alive.]_

_Akaashi won't kill me. He knows that'll hurt Kenma._

_[still, considering your back is also_ my _back, i suggest you watch it.]_

_Roger._

He's in his room now, pulling clothes out of the wardrobe to roll and place in the knapsack a kid named Kageyama dropped off for him. It's made of some kind of material that's apparently been enchanted, because though it's about the size of a serving platter, when Kuroo sticks his hand inside it feels much roomier. He hopes he doesn't lose anything in it.

A rapid knock at the door causes him to turn, and he steps over to slide it open, blinking in surprise at Bokuto standing there.

"Bo? What are you doing here? I thought you'd be busy with Akaashi." Suddenly worried that the young man came with Bokuto, Kuroo checks down the hall. Thankfully, it's empty.

Bokuto scratches his ear. "We're gonna do stuff later, I just wanted to uh, say thank you, you know. For agreeing to go with Akaashi. I know I'm not good at noticing things, but it's pretty obvious that you guys don't like each other for some reason." He sighs, shoulders slumping. "It sucks. My boyfriend and my best friend can't get along, and I feel really bad whenever I think about it. Like I shouldn't be your friend or I shouldn't be his boyfriend or--"

"Bo," Kuroo says gently, cutting him off. "It's okay. Akaashi and I will be fine. We'll work it out. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Bokuto bites his lip, nodding. Kuroo steps forward, wrapping his arms around Bokuto's neck to give him a firm hug. Bokuto grips the back of his yukata tightly, burrowing his nose in his neck. Kuroo can feel his breath, warm against his skin, and he closes his eyes. He's hit suddenly with the realization that this'll probably be the last time he gets to hold Bokuto like this in who knows how long. He holds him closer, sighing into his hair, feeling the beat of Bokuto's heart against his chest.

"I'll keep him safe, Bo. I promise."

Bokuto clutches him, squeezing his arms around Kuroo more firmly. "You stay safe too."

Kuroo pulls away on account of not being able to breathe and gives Bokuto a crooked grin. "I will."

Bokuto gives him a watery smile in return. "Bro . . . you know I trust you, right?" He says then, pressing his fist lightly against Kuroo's chest.

Kuroo tilts his head. "Yes?"

Bokuto looks at his hand a moment before drawing his gaze back up to Kuroo's, his cheeks somewhat pink. "My name is Koutarou. Bokuto Koutarou."

Kuroo's not sure what his emotions are doing, but his chest is tight and he kind of feels like crying. He holds back the tears, though, and instead takes Bokuto's face in his hands to kiss him firmly. When he pulls back, Bokuto looks flushed but pleased.

"Akaashi doesn't know what he's talking about," he says happily. "You're great."

Kuroo grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know about that, but . . . I'm glad you trust me. I promise I won't use your name against you."

Bokuto nods vigorously. "I know you won't." He hesitates a moment before taking a step back. "So, uh, yeah I just wanted to tell you that. I'm gonna go back to Akaashi now but . . . I'll see you tomorrow?"

Kuroo nods. "Definitely."

Bokuto turns to go, and Kuroo bites his lip, realizing that he's forgotten something in his shock over learning Bokuto's given name. He reaches out to grab Bokuto's wrist, stalling him.

"Tetsurou," he says, looking into Bokuto's face and watching how his eyes widen slowly. He grins faintly, running his thumb over Bokuto's skin before releasing him. "My name."

Bokuto grins. "Cool name," he says. "Thanks."

Kuroo grins back at him, feeling a lightness in his chest that he hasn't felt in some time. "No problem."

Bokuto waves slightly, heading off down the hall in a slight jog. Kuroo lingers in the doorway, glancing across at the door to Kenma's room. It's shut, and Kuroo doesn't know if Kenma's even there. He takes a step toward it, before he quickly retreats back into his room, sliding the door closed once more.

_Coward._

_[i'm inclined to agree.]_

_Shut up._

_[your hesitation is natural. you're wondering if he's sending you off as much for akaashi's protection as his own way of keeping you at arm's length.]_

_He trusts me to take care of Akaashi._

_[from what i've seen, akaashi can take care of himself.]_

Kuroo frowns down at the knapsack on his bed. The whisper makes a point, one that Kuroo doesn't really appreciate but is true nonetheless. Still, he brushes it off, knowing that Kenma is simply worried for his friend. And if it'll make Kenma feel better, Kuroo's willing to suffer through weeks of uncomfortable silences and dangerous faerie magic.

_[you're pathetic.]_

_I know._

Is it pathetic to sacrifice everything for the people you love? As Kuroo finishes packing and sets the knapsack by the door for the morning, he wonders if the demon inside him has ever known love. He never considered it before, but considering demons don't have souls is it impossible for them to feel emotions the way humans do?

_[the only emotions i feel are your own, and frankly it's irritating.]_

_Why is that?_

_[emotions are inconvenient. we serve our master in hell, we are his soldiers, slaves, targets, whores, laborers, anything he needs us to be. emotions get in the way of performing duties with precision and excellence.]_

It's fascinating information, but Kuroo latches onto a different topic.

_So you feel whatever I feel?_

_[i am bonded to your soul, so . . . yes.]_

_And the love I feel, for Kenta, for Koutarou, for Kenma . . . those feelings are inconvenient for you?_

_[are they not for you? look at how you suffer for them.]_

_I think it's worth it._

_[which is why i'll most likely never understand you or humans in general.]_

 

 

Lying in bed later that night, Kuroo reflects on the whisper's words. He can't think of a time when he wished he couldn't feel. Yes, he's suffered; he's suffered greatly. But he wouldn't take any of it back. He wouldn't take back the time he had with Kenta, nor the time he's shared with Koutarou and Kenma. Despite the pain, he's only ever felt lucky to have them.

He thinks of Koutarou's grin, the way he _sparkles_ and radiates joy and excitement. He thinks of Kenma's smile, small and rare but completely sincere. He thinks of Kenta's eyes, warm and content whenever they looked at him.

He remembers the lightness he felt in his chest when he first saw those things. The way his heart swelled in his chest; the way his lips couldn't keep from stretching into a smile of their own. The way he felt gratified, fortunate, safe, and happy. These emotions aren't inconvenient. Not if they make him feel alive and whole.

But he supposes a demon can't understand that.

 

 

_"I feel like I should apologize."_

_Kuroo looks up from where he's kneeling in the dirt, rolling up their tent. The woods are quiet in the early morning, the colors around them a muted blue in the hour before the sun rises. Some birds twitter above them in the trees, just waking and fluttering their wings, shaking off drops of dew. Kenta stands with his profile to Kuroo, staring up at one of the nests, at a mother grooming her nestling._

_"What for?" he asks. It's not like Kenta to get contemplative, at least not during the day._

_"I've kept you from your mission. I know you long to take revenge on the men who killed your parents, and yet you've stuck by me these past three years despite this fact. I don't believe I've seen you search for the bandits at all in the last few months." Kenta turns, fixing Kuroo with a curious stare. "Have you given up?"_

_Kuroo ties off the rolled cloth, setting it inside his pack before standing. "It's not that I've given up," he admits. "I've simply found a new purpose. Do I want the men who murdered my family to pay for what they've done? Of course I do. But I don't feel the same rage and hatred I did before." He grins faintly, reaching out to touch Kenta's cheek lightly with his fingertips. "Being with you has tempered those feelings. You make me want to be a better person. And the feeling of helping people . . . that's hundred times better than the ugliness of hate."_

_Kenta smiles, reaching for Kuroo's hand. "You've always been a good person, Tetsu. You just lost your way for a while."_

_Kuroo lifts Kenta's hand to kiss the back of it gently. "Thanks to you, I've found it again."_

_"Still, I feel guilty for not allowing you to have that closure. So I've brought the murderer to you."_

_Kuroo freezes. "What?"_

_Kenta turns away, gesturing to the woods. A man materializes from the trees, stepping forward slowly. Kuroo inhales sharply, eyes widening. This can't be right. This doesn't make sense. How could it be . . ._

_Kuroo stares as Akaashi comes to a stop directly in front of him, his face an unreadable mask. Kuroo turns to Kenta, but he's disappeared. He's alone in the forest with Akaashi. Dawn breaks over the trees, bathing them in sudden light. Kuroo winces, lifting his hand to shield his eyes. Faster than he can blink, Akaashi reaches out and grabs his wrist. Instantly pain burns along his skin, sharp and hot like acid. He stifles a scream, as he drops to his knees._

_"I won't let you take what is mine," Akaashi says flatly._

_Kuroo stares in horror as his skin melts from his arm, revealing his muscle then the bone beneath until that crumbles to dust._

_"Kenta? What's going on? Kenta!"_

_Akaashi moves his other hand forward, resting it against Kuroo's cheek. This time, he can't stop the scream that tears through his throat._

"Kuroo! Wake up!"

Kuroo gasps, opening his eyes. The room is still dark, but he can dimly see a figure hovering over him. There's a warm hand against his cheek, the other grasping his wrist. Kuroo notices that his arm is raised, fist clenched tightly. He must have tried to strike out at whoever it is above him. He forces himself to relax, blinking to let his eyes adjust.

Kenma frowns down at him, eyes searching his face. When he feels Kuroo's arm go limp, he releases it, pulling both hands away as he sits back on Kuroo's stomach. Kuroo stares up at the ceiling, struggling to breathe. He runs his hands over his face.

"I dreamt Akaashi was the one to kill my parents, and then he tried to kill me too." He's not sure if it's wise to tell Kenma, but his heart is still racing, panic still coursing through his veins.

"Are you afraid Akaashi will hurt you on your journey? Because he won't." Kenma's voice is quiet but sure. "He doesn't like you, but he doesn't want to kill you. He doesn't want to kill anyone."

"I know. I'm not afraid he'll hurt me. I guess I'm more worried that he might . . . find a way to keep me from coming back."

Kuroo feels Kenma take his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. "He won't."

"It's not that he just doesn't like me, Kenma. He doesn't trust me. Not with you and certainly not with his own life. I wouldn't be surprised if we get out there and he gives me the slip, leaving me to wander around forever in a faerie maze." Kuroo realizes he's probably being overdramatic, but he wouldn't put it past Akaashi to try something like that.

Kenma purses his lips. "You'll just have to make him trust you then."

Kuroo rolls his eyes. "How?"

Kenma tilts his head. "I didn't like you at first or trust you. But I do now."

Kuroo blinks up at him, grinning faintly after a moment. "You like me?"

Kenma narrows his eyes. Wrinkling his nose, he twists away to get off him. Kuroo sits up quickly, placing his hands on Kenma's waist and holding him in place. Kenma freezes, but he doesn't struggle to get away. This close to him Kuroo can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the way his breath has grown thin and shivery. Kuroo's own heartbeat and breathing aren't faring much better.

"Why did you come in here?" Kuroo asks softly, watching as his breath rustles strands of Kenma's hair.

Kenma keeps his face turned away and doesn't answer. He's grown very still, his hands resting limply on the sheets, as he sits straddling Kuroo's hips. It's so close to another time they sat like this, Kuroo feels his stomach churn uneasily. But he doesn't let go. Instead, he lifts his hand, brushing Kenma's hair behind his ear gently.

"Are you saying goodbye?" He can't help but sound hopeful.

Kenma slowly turns his head to look at Kuroo. His expression is inscrutable, and his slow blink tells Kuroo nothing.

"If you let him die, I won't forgive you," Kenma says finally, lowering his gaze.

Kuroo swallows hard. "I know." He shakes his head. "I'll bring him back to you safely, I promise."

Kenma lifts his hands, curling his fingers into the material of Kuroo's sleep shirt. "If you sacrifice yourself for his safety, I won't forgive you for that either."

Kuroo is finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. He nods quickly. "I'll bring us both back safely, I swear."

Kenma lifts his head and the tiniest of smiles curves his lips. Kuroo is hit with an overwhelming urge to kiss him, but considering how well that worked out last time he lifts Kenma off his lap, setting him beside him on the bed.

"I should try to get some rest before tomorrow."

Kenma looks at him, and Kuroo expects him to get off the bed. Instead, Kenma moves to get under the blankets beside him, curling up into a ball. Startled, Kuroo isn't sure what to do, but then Kenma reaches for him and grabs his arm, pulling him down beside him. Kuroo moves slowly, unsure of what Kenma's expecting.

"Hey . . ."

Kenma tilts his head, meeting his gaze. Kuroo swallows hard, his heart pounding in his ears.

"If you and Akaashi . . . after Akaashi breaks his curse, if the two of you want to be together . . . I'm not going to get in the way of your happiness, okay?"

Kenma blinks at him, and Kuroo feels anxiety twist in his stomach.

"I'm just saying." _Has it grown hotter in here?_

Kenma closes his eyes. "What if I want both?"

"What?" Kuroo's voice sounds weak in his ears.

Kenma heaves an impatient sigh, opening his eyes again. "What if I want to be with both of you?"

Kuroo's pretty sure his lungs have stopped working, maybe his heart as well. He's gaping, and he only realizes it when Kenma gently flicks his chin. He quickly shuts his mouth, nodding then.

"Yeah, sure, I mean, it's whatever you want. I'm not sure how Akaashi will feel about it, but that's fine with me."

_He wants to be with me. He wants to be with me. He wants to be with me._

Kenma purses his lips, nodding. "Good," he says with a note of finality. He closes his eyes once more, shifting down to press his face against Kuroo's chest, hands tucked up beneath his chin. Cautiously, Kuroo moves his arm around Kenma, feeling somewhat like he's still dreaming. It feels surreal, laying here holding Kenma, knowing now what he does.

He ducks his head, hiding his grin in Kenma's hair.

His nightmare doesn't return.

 

 

The cute freckled guard, Yamaguchi, is the one chosen to escort Kuroo and Akaashi to the Karasuno border. Kuroo notes how Tsukishima doesn't seem very happy about this fact. He stands beside his king with a deep frown on his normally placid expression, as Sugawara goes over last minute instructions.

"There's a border guard that will require you to pay a toll," he explains. "I've given Tadashi the money you'll need. After that I'm afraid you're on your own." He hands Akaashi the scrying glass he promised them, which Akaashi tucks away into his own knapsack.

"Thank you for your hospitality and for your assistance," he says with a bow.

Koutarou and Kenma linger in the doorway to the palace. Koutarou's eyes are misty, his fingers twisting together. Kenma's eyes scan the courtyard below, not meeting anyone's gaze, expression blank.

He was still there when Kuroo woke up that morning, though he said nothing as Kuroo finished getting ready. He remained silent throughout breakfast, and as he walked with Kuroo to the palace doors. Kuroo wishes he knew what he was thinking, especially after their conversation last night.

After Kuroo thanks Sugawara as well, he turns to the two in the doorway. Akaashi steps up to Kenma, taking his hands in his gloved ones and dipping his head to speak quietly to him.

"You never answered my question yesterday," he says.

Kenma's cheeks pinken, and he ducks his head. "Yes," he murmurs.

Kuroo's not sure what that's about, but before he can worry Koutarou grabs him in a tight hug.

"Don't worry, man. I'll look out for Kozume while you're gone," he says with a grin that's dampened by the sadness in his eyes.

"I know you will," Kuroo admits, patting his back. "Take care of yourself too, okay? Don't just sit around being sad waiting for us to come back. Learn about magic; practice it. When I get back you better be the best damn magic user here, got it?"

Koutarou's face brightens. "Right!"

Akaashi appears by Kuroo's elbow. He says nothing, but Kuroo quickly moves out of the way. He steps over to where Kenma stands, watching the two embrace tightly before glancing down at the boy beside him. Kenma's face is turned away, and he's picking at the skin around his nails. Kuroo touches his elbow lightly.

"Hey. It's going to be okay. We're going to be fine."

Kenma's shoulders relax slightly, and he lowers his hands to his sides. Turning, he looks up at Kuroo for a moment. Kuroo wishes he could read his mind or at least read his expression. He thinks he sees affection there, though, amidst the worry. He gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"I promise."

He feels something warm brush against his aura. It's just a light touch, but his eyes widen, as he inhales sharply. He steps closer to Kenma without really meaning to, but Kenma doesn't back away, nor does he try to stop Kuroo as he places his hand on Kenma's hip gently. His fingers are trembling, and he tries not to think of the people nearby, as he bends his head to kiss Kenma.

He intends for it to be a simple kiss, just a quick farewell, but Kenma grabs the front of his yukata and holds him in place, kissing him back deeply. Sparks ignite in Kuroo's veins, and he finds himself clutching Kenma's hip tighter, shifting closer still, as he melts into the kiss. Kenma's lips are insistent, pressing firmly without hesitance. Kuroo wants to slip back inside, away from the others, in order to continue with more fervor. But he pulls back instead, reluctantly, noticing the heat of Kenma's face.

Koutarou's grinning at them, and he gives Kuroo a thumbs up. "Nice, dude."

Akaashi turns away, facing Yamaguchi. "Let's go."

Kuroo feels somewhat dizzy, and Kenma steps to the side, hiding behind his hair. Akaashi's already halfway down the palace steps before Kuroo realizes that he's leaving and hastens to catch up. He bites his lip, able to sense Akaashi's frosty aura even without using magic.

"Sorry," he offers after a moment.

"When I break this curse you won't find me apologizing for kissing Kenma-kun," Akaashi says without inflection. He glances sidelong at Kuroo. "He never does anything he doesn't want to do."

Kuroo grits his teeth in a tight smile. "That's oddly encouraging despite being extremely irritating."

Yamaguchi glances over his shoulder at the two of them worriedly. "Please don't kill each other before we get to the border."

"Can I kill him _after_ we get to the border?" Kuroo asks, mostly joking.

Yamaguchi laughs nervously, but it peters out when neither of the two join him. He gulps audibly.

"J-just wait until I'm gone at least."

They're almost to the front gates of the palace walls when Kuroo feels another brush against his aura. He slows to a stop, as he's nudged again. He glances over his shoulder, dropping the barrier around his mind. It shouldn't be possible for Kenma's aura to reach him at this great a distance, the doors of the palace small in his vision. He can just barely make out the figures standing above the steps. But at the same time . . .

_Kenma?_

_Come back safe. You promised._

Kuroo can't help the grin that tugs at his lips. _We will._

 

 

 

***

 

The space between the two bushes in the palace courtyard is really too small for Bokuto's width, but he squeezes between them anyway, wrapping his arms around his knees to make himself as small as possible. There's a deep ache within his chest that he hasn't been able to shake since Keiji and Tetsurou left. He can't help but feel like things are going to go horribly and he's never going to see either of them ever again. The sense of impending doom weighs heavily on his shoulders, and he's pretty sure he's never felt this dejected before in his life.

_They left. They left me and they're never coming back. I'm never going to see them again. Fuck._

He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. He knows these thoughts don't make sense. He knows he should be hopeful, but it's difficult when all he feels is emptiness from his loss.

Soft footsteps draw near to his hiding place. Bokuto peers out at the feet that stop in front of him, bare, with legs disappearing beneath a red yukata. The knees bend, and soon Bokuto sees Kozume's face peering in at him.

"H-hey," Bokuto manages, sniffling.

"That looks uncomfortable," Kozume states, eyes surveying the branches that are digging into Bokuto's sides.

"Yeah, I guess." Bokuto hasn't really noticed.

"I know a better spot." Kozume holds out his hand.

Bokuto takes it, not really sure what else to do. It's strange; he can't remember ever touching Kozume before. His hand is smaller, more slender than his own as well. It's not as pretty as Keiji's hand, but it's not bad either. He stares down at it, as Kozume leads him out of the courtyard and back into the palace.

When he looks up again, they've entered a room he doesn't at first recognize. But it doesn't take a genius to figure out what the wooden tub, stove, and various vases are for. There are pots and pans stacked on a wooden counter, along with rows upon rows of plates, bowls and chopsticks. The kitchen is expansive, large enough to hold at least twenty people. But when Kozume and Bokuto step into the room, it's empty.

"They haven't started preparing for lunch yet," Kozume explains, as he drops Bokuto's hand. He steps over to a giant basket full of fruit and begins to pick out apples.

"What are you doing?" Bokuto asks, after watching him blankly.

"We're making apple pie," Kozume says, not looking over at him. "It's so boring here without my games, and I don't really feel like interacting with anyone."

Bokuto scratches the back of his head. "But you want to interact with me?"

Kozume pauses, tilting his head. "Your aura is soothing."

Bokuto perks up at that. He's not sure anyone's ever told him that before. He grins, looking down at his arms. "Really? That's awesome! What else is my aura like? What does it look like?"

Kozume turns to look at him, studying him up and down. "It's gold, like others'. But it's got a lot of other colors too. It's like a rainbow." He waves his hand absently. "People's emotions show up in their aura as different colors, but yours has all of them all the time and certain ones just glow brighter than others when you feel things. I guess it's because you're half-faerie."

"That's so cool, right?" Bokuto asks excitedly. "I always knew I was special. My mom said I was blessed by the fae and nobody ever believed me, but I was right the whole time!"

Kozume's lips twitch slightly, and he turns back to the apples he's gathered. He reaches for a knife and begins to cut them into wedges. He pushes some over to Bokuto, which Bokuto figures means he wants his help. He grabs a second knife and begins to cut through the fruit enthusiastically.

They work in silence to start, but Bokuto grows antsy and begins to talk. Mostly about Keiji. He rambles on about how amazing he is, how beautiful, how he always makes things better. He's terrible at descriptions, but he does his best to paint a picture for Kozume of how soft his skin is, how smooth and warm, how tight his hugs. Kozume's quiet throughout his rant, making small noises now and then to let Bokuto know he's still listening.

It's calming, Bokuto finds. It's not unlike how Keiji will let him go on and on about a particular subject without telling him to be quiet or that he's spoken enough. Eventually, though, a thought comes to him that brings him to actually ask a question of Kozume.

They're rolling the dough by this time, the apple slices already peeled and sweetened with the sugary syrup. Kozume has a smear of flour on his cheekbone from when he pushed his hair back behind his ear, and the front of Bokuto's yukata is white with the powder from nearly knocking over the sack with a wide gesture.

"Hey, hey, Kozume," he says now, glancing sidelong at his silent companion. "Akaashi mentioned that you guys bonded auras once."

Kozume's hands slow to a stop. He stares down at the flattened dough, and Bokuto ducks his head to try and read his expression. It's no use though; Kozume's face is blank just like always. Bokuto straightens.

"When I first heard that I was confused, because I didn't know what it meant. Then after I found out he was in love with you, I asked around. It made me kinda mad, you know? That he did that with you."

Kozume inhales slowly. "It was before he met you," he says then. "If that helps any . . ."

Bokuto ruminates on that a moment, chewing the inside of his lip. His chest _does_ feel lighter at that information, but that isn't why he brought this up in the first place.

"I'm not mad anymore. Just kinda worried, I guess. Because . . . well, he bonded with me last night while we were making love. It felt so . . . incredible. Amazing! Like we were truly connected. I had no idea you could feel that close to someone. And I guess I'm kinda worried that now that he's gonna be able to touch people . . . that he's going to do that with you. He's already done it once, right? Part of the way at least, so I'm worried he's going to want to finish what he started, I guess."

Kozume closes his eyes, sighing deeply. "He's not going to choose me over you."

"But how can you know that? He might come back and decide that you were the one he wanted all along and I was just a substitute." Bokuto's stomach churns unpleasantly, and suddenly the thought of apple pie isn't as appetizing as before.

Kozume rolls his eyes. "You're not a substitute."

Bokuto frowns down at his dough, digging his fist into it. "Think about it, Kozume-kun! What if he's only with me because I'm the only person he can touch? What if he only fell in love with me because I'm the only person he _could_ fall in love with?" When Kozume doesn't answer immediately, Bokuto shoves the dough away from him, causing it to wrinkle. "I don't want to make pie with you anymore. This sucks. You suck. I don't even like you that much."

"I don't like you very much right now either," Kozume deadpans.

Bokuto tries to squawk indignantly, but it ends up sounding more pitiful than offended.

Kozume nudges Bokuto out of the way gently, taking his dough to start smoothing it out once more. "Akaashi is a very private person. He doesn't open up to people well. The fact that he reached out to you, became your friend even before he knew he could touch you, says a lot about his feelings for you." He lifts his head to fix Bokuto with a hard stare that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine.

"If you think for one minute that those feelings aren't real, then you don't deserve to be with him in the first place."

Bokuto swallows hard. Kozume turns back to the dough, while Bokuto fidgets beside him, thinking on those words and guessing he has a point. He remembers Keiji's warm aura surrounding him, practically pinning him to the bed, pulsating over him with enough pressure and energy to make Bokuto tremble, hard and longing. He remembers how gentle Keiji's hands were on him, how he spoke softly, asking if Bokuto was okay at nearly every step, patient and kind like always.

He remembers Keiji's shivering breath by his ear, whispering _"I love you."_

Of course that was real. It had to be real.

"I guess . . . you're not so bad after all," Bokuto relents. "Kind of scary though."

Kozume's lips twitch in what could be a smile. "I can be a _lot_ scarier."

Bokuto grins, holding up his hands. "I'm good."

He takes the dough from Kozume, letting him find the pie pan and butter it before arranging the dough he flattened into it. They pour the apple and syrup into the bowl the dough creates, before placing Bokuto's lopsided and still somewhat lumpy dough on top of it. They place it in the stone oven to bake and then set about cleaning up their mess.

When the pie is finished they place it on the counter to cool and survey their work.

Kozume stifles a laugh. "That is the ugliest pie I've ever seen."

"Hey!" Bokuto exclaims, insulted. "We worked hard on it! I've never made a pie before in my life, but look at how good it smells! I bet it tastes even better!"

Kozume looks up at him contemplatively for a moment, before he smiles. "You're right."

Bokuto beams back at him, his chest feeling ten times lighter than before. _He has a nice smile. I hope I can make him smile a lot! Tetsurou will appreciate that, I think._

"I get the biggest piece!" He exclaims, diving for the pile of chopsticks to look for a fork.

"Fine. I guess that makes sense; seeing as you have the biggest mouth here."

"Thank y-- _hey_!"

Kozume turns his face away, hiding another snort of laughter. Bokuto can't stay bothered for long, not when he's feeling so much better. Once the pie is cool enough, he slices it for them, giving himself two pieces instead of one (to prove he _doesn't_ have a big mouth, thank you very much). Kozume asks about his and Keiji's date to the planetarium, and Bokuto goes off again, describing everything as best he can. He talks with his mouth full, but Kozume never tells him to stop.

For the rest of his morning with Kozume, he forgets to be lonely.

 

 

 

***

 

The door is closed. It's been closed since their fight yesterday. Oikawa was too afraid to open it and had ended up sleeping in a spare room down the hall. But now he stands in front of it, knowing he can't avoid this forever, as much as he'd like to. In a strange realm full of people that could very likely kill him, Oikawa wants to cling to the one person he knows and trusts with his life. Even now he does, he always has. He doesn't see that changing even if Hajime never wants to talk to him again.

An involuntary whimper escapes him at that thought. He purses his lips, squaring his shoulders, before carefully sliding the door open.

"Iwa-chan?"

There's no answer. Taking that as encouragement (since at least Hajime isn't yelling at him to go away), Oikawa steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. The door to the balcony is open, and Hajime is sitting with his back against the frame, legs pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He has his head resting on his knees, looking toward the city.

Oikawa approaches hesitantly, settling down cross-legged beside him. He curls his fingers into fists on his knees before flexing them, not entirely sure where to start. Hajime doesn't say anything either. Oikawa wishes he knew how to comfort people. He's never been good at it, always tending to be the comforted instead of the comforter. Should he try to hold Hajime? Should he touch him at all? Should he apologize again?

He's gripped with the sudden realization that he might be losing his best friend. Panic fills him and tears spring to his eyes. Inhaling sharply, he starts to speak, to explain himself some more, to apologize, _something_ , but Hajime beats him to it.

"You remember when we were kids . . . I think we were ten or something. Maybe eleven. The day I told you my given name." Hajime speaks with his face still turned away. His voice is rough, the kind of rough it only sounds like after he's been crying. Oikawa can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Hajime cry. His gut clenches.

"We were eleven," Oikawa replies softly. "It was right before our first day of middle school. We were at the fort."

Hajime lifts his head, leaning it back against the frame behind him. "Right, yeah."

His eyes are closed, but Oikawa can see the tear stains on his face. He wants to move closer, to kiss away those stains, but he remains where he is, fists curling once more.

"You were crying because you were afraid nobody would like you, since nobody came to your tenth birthday party and your eleventh was a bust too."

Oikawa frowns. He doesn't like remembering that. The disappointment still stings sharply in his chest whenever he does.

"I promised I would stick by you no matter what. That even if the other kids thought you were weird, even though you _were_ weird, I'd still be your friend. I told you my name because I trusted you, more than anyone." Hajime lowers his head, opening his eyes to look at Oikawa. They're red-rimmed, swollen around the edges. How long had he been crying? "Oikawa, I've never told anyone else my given name. Not even Makki and Mattsun."

Oikawa inhales sharply. "I-I trust you too, Iwa-chan . . ."

"Yeah." Hajime turns his face away, looking out toward the balcony once more. "Well, I'm not so sure I trust you anymore."

Oikawa's chest tightens. His lips part, but he doesn't know what to say. The only thing that comes to mind is more apologies, and he's not sure how well they'll be received. Still, he has to try. He can't let this happen.

He leans forward.

"Iwa-chan, please. I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was doing the best thing to protect everyone. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Hajime turns to fix him with a deep frown. "You're not an idiot, Oikawa. You knew that what you were doing would hurt me. That's why you left the note."

Oikawa can feel his eyes burning once more. "But I didn't . . . I hoped you'd understand why . . ."

"I do understand." Hajime moves to stand, sliding his hands down his yukata like he's searching for pockets, before crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I get it, Oikawa. I know you well enough to know why you did everything. But you broke my trust by going behind my back, by using me the way you did. We were _partners_ , and you fucked with that."

Oikawa lowers his head, biting his lip. "I'm _sorry_."

Hajime sighs. "I know you are," he says, his voice softening. "To be honest, I'm angrier at myself than at you. You weren't yourself, and I should've picked up on that. I should've been more suspicious, but I didn't . . . I didn't want to believe there was anything wrong with you. I just wanted you to be Tooru, but you weren't anymore. Not completely. I should've seen that. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted."

Hajime turns away, stepping out into the balcony. He grips the top of the railing in his hands. Oikawa stands slowly, unsure if he should join him or not, so he lingers in the doorway.

A sudden, bitter laugh from Hajime startles Oikawa, and he jolts, eyes widening.

"The worst part is, I actually thought I was a good Hunter," Hajime says, shaking his head.

"You _are_ a good Hunter," Oikawa insists, taking a step forward. "You're one of the best at Aoba Johsai. You're amazing!"

Hajime grows still, the laughter fading from his expression, as he turns to look at him. "How can I be an amazing Hunter? I fell in love with a demon."

Oikawa flinches, his chest twinging painfully. _He's never called me a demon before . . ._

"Do you wish you weren't in love with me?" he can't help but ask. _I must be a masochist._ "Do-do you wish you could take it back?"

Hajime's throat constricts. "I don't know," he says, with that brutal honesty Oikawa knew to expect.

He wishes he hadn't asked. The tears are gathering in earnest now. He turns away, lifting his arm to hide his face as the tears start to fall. He can't hold back a sob; his shoulders shake. The ache in his chest has worsened, and it's like he can actually feel his heart splintering. Then an arm rests heavily across his shoulders. He feels a hand in his hair, gently pushing his head to turn him. He moves willingly, burying his face in Hajime's shoulder.

He grips Hajime close, curling his fingers into the back of his yukata as he cries. Hajime's arms encircle him, holding him firmly. Oikawa can feel the steady beat of his heart, and he takes comfort in the warmth of his skin. It seems backwards. Hajime shouldn't be doing this, stroking his hair, rubbing his back. _He_ hurt Hajime first. He should be stroking _Hajime's_ hair, rubbing _his_ back.

"Hey, dumbass," Hajime says softly, affectionately. "I'm still your best friend, okay? That hasn't changed. I'm not going to leave you."

Oikawa only cries harder, because Hajime is so _good_. He's always been so _good_. He's always been there, to comfort Oikawa, to encourage him, to kick his ass if need be.

He doesn't deserve a demon for a best friend.

There's a gentle knock on the door, and Hajime pulls away, stepping back into the room to open it. Oikawa wipes his face on the sleeve of his yukata, sniffling as he listens to the brief conversation.

"Sugawara-sama requests your presence in the throne room. He has received word from Shiratorizawa regarding your mission."

"Thanks. We'll be right there."

Hajime slides the door shut then turns to look at Oikawa. "You're a pain in the ass," he says, to which Oikawa makes a mournful sound. "But I don't regret meeting you, or becoming your friend." He sighs, running his hand through his hair. "The other stuff . . . it's just confusing right now. Give me time, okay?"

Oikawa nods. He knows he's lucky for getting even this. He knows he'll have to make things up to Hajime somehow; he just needs to figure out what to do.

"I'm really sorry," he says again, wondering if that'll help.

Hajime's lips twist slightly. Not quite a smile, but it's enough to allow Oikawa's shoulders to relax some. "And you don't have to keep apologizing. That's going to get old really fast." He steps over to him, reaching up to ruffle Oikawa's hair gently. "Come on. You gotta get that snot off your face if you're going to impress the king of Shiratorizawa. He's not going to want to listen to an ugly crybaby."

"Iwa-chan is still mean, that hasn't changed either." Oikawa sniffles, but he finds himself fighting a small grin.

"It won't any time soon, not so long as you're an annoying dumbass," Hajime says, actually smiling this time. He wraps his arm around Oikawa's shoulder, pulling him toward the door that leads to the bathroom and toilet. "Let's get you cleaned up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	20. past the point of no return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stayed up very late to finish this . . . sorry if there's any errors /)u(\

 

 

 

grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change,  
courage to change the things i can,  
and wisdom to know the difference.

\--reinhold niebuhr, _serenity prayer_

 

* * *

 

Yamaguchi leads them through the city of Karasuno on their way to the border. They pass vendors selling wares, bath houses, taverns, inns, blacksmiths, tailors . . . pretty much everything you'd expect to see in a city in feudal Japan. Akaashi wonders just how long the faeries have been here, to still live in this way. He saw some influences of modernism in the palace, and he wonders if Sugawara visited the human realm often enough to create copies of technologies he'd seen.

Kuroo's eyes are wide, as he takes in everything. His expression is somewhat odd, a mixture of wonder and wistfulness. When he catches Akaashi staring, he rubs the back of his neck.

"It just . . . reminds me of home."

"I didn't ask," Akaashi says, perhaps rudely, turning to face forward once more.

Yamaguchi glances back nervously, but Kuroo doesn't offer a retort. Instead, he reaches into his knapsack, pulling out a red ribbon. This he twists around his fingers absently, his eyes still shifting back and forth, as they continue down the street. Akaashi remembers then that Kuroo came from a place like this, over 600 years ago. He probably misses it.

"I suppose . . . coming into modern Japan was somewhat of a cultural shock for you," he offers as an olive branch. _Kenma would want me to play nice . . . Koutarou as well._

Kuroo narrows his eyes, studying him a moment, as if trying to gauge if Akaashi is being sincere or not. Eventually he shrugs. "At first, yeah. But I'm a quick learner. I had to be. Couldn't find a way to get back."

Akaashi nods. Without his consent, his mind offers him a picture of Kuroo, lost and confused in the middle of Miyagi, with no home to run toward and no one to help him. Sympathy grips him momentarily before he quickly banishes it. He's not on this mission to make friends with the man who's taken Kenma from him. And he's not about to forget the darkness that lingers in his aura like a black stain.

Yamaguchi blinks at Kuroo. "You used to live in a place like this?" he asks curiously. "How old are you? Are you a faerie too?"

Kuroo laughs abruptly, a harsh sound that instantly grates Akaashi's nerves. "Hardly. I spent some time in Hell after I was killed by an enchanted blade, but I fought my way back out again. It took longer than I thought it did."

Yamaguchi's eyes are large. "How did you fight your way out of _Hell_?"

Kuroo hesitates, glancing at Akaashi briefly, before turning back to faerie in front of him. "My soul was accidentally fused to the demon possessing me. My . . . the man who killed me did it wrong, somehow. Instead of expelling the demon completely, he only banished it back to Hell and I went along for the ride. It was only with its help that I was able to escape."

Akaashi purses his lips. "And so you're still possessed. I thought as much."

Kuroo frowns. " _No_ , I'm not. It . . . demons don't have souls, so when I died and we fused, my human soul absorbed its energy . . . and its consciousness. It can't control me like it did when it possessed me, but I can access its magic, and it can still talk to me. Unfortunately."

Akaashi isn't reassured. "You say it speaks to you. Can it not then coerce you into harming another person?"

Kuroo's frown deepens. "I'm fucking in control, Akaashi. If I wasn't, believe me, you would know."

Yamaguchi glances between them, again nervous. Akaashi tells himself to calm down. It's not as though he's learning anything new. It's just confirmation of what he already suspected. It doesn't make him any less uneasy to know that the demon is an active presence in Kuroo's mind, however.

"I still don't like you being around Kenma-kun."

"Yeah, I _know_. But it's none of your fucking business, is it?" Kuroo gives him a pointed look. "You don't hear me talking about how you practically eye-fuck Kenma whenever he's in the room, despite Bokuto being _right there_."

Akaashi feels his cheeks warm. Is he truly that obvious? Or is Kuroo simply observant? Kuroo seems like the type of person to pick up on things others might not.

He slips his gloved hands inside his kimono sleeves, gripping his elbows tightly. "Please do not question my love for Bokuto-san," he says, as politely as he can despite the burning desire to punch Kuroo in the throat.

"Don't question mine for Kenma, then," Kuroo says flatly.

The two of them glare at each other until Yamaguchi clears his throat with an awkward cough.

"Um, we should keep moving if we want to reach the border by noon."

Akaashi turns away first. In his peripheral, he sees Kuroo twisting that ribbon around his fingers again. He's never seen this tic before, and he wonders what significance the ribbon has. But he doesn't ask. As they pass a jeweler's storefront, Kuroo straightens and excuses himself before rushing inside. Akaashi sighs, slowing to a stop to wait.

Yamaguchi glances back at the palace. He's been doing that often throughout their walk.

"We won't delay any more after this," he assures him.

Yamaguchi jumps slightly, turning back around with a sheepish grin. "It's fine! I just . . . I haven't been away from the palace by myself in a long time."

Akaashi's about to ask who he's usually with, but just then Kuroo returns, his hands empty. Akaashi can't help but be curious, but he remains silent, as Kuroo turns and bows apologetically to Yamaguchi.

"Sorry, we can go now."

Kuroo falls into step beside Yamaguchi, leaving Akaashi trailing along behind them. He strikes up a conversation with the guard, asking him about his life at the palace and what his impression of the king and queen is. Yamaguchi sounds favorable toward them, but Akaashi had already felt at ease in their presence. When Kuroo starts questioning Yamaguchi's relationship with Tsukishima, however, Akaashi tunes them out, not interested in hearing about his complicated love life (his own is complicated enough).

His thoughts turn toward Koutarou instead. He wonders if he's doing all right. Leaving him had been difficult, despite the bonding they experienced the night before (or perhaps because of it). It was altogether different from when he bonded with Kenma. The connection felt much deeper, stronger. He wonders if that was because of Koutarou's faerie magic, which is in of itself much more powerful than anything Akaashi's felt before. He hopes he learns how to wield it correctly.

He hopes Kenma will be all right as well.

He remembers the scrying glass in his knapsack, how Sugawara gave Kenma and Koutarou both one as well. All it would take is a simple spell, and he'll see their faces again. He's grateful for this, as he gets the feeling it's going to be a long while before he's able to reunite with them.

 

 

It takes two hours to exit the city and make their way to the border that lies deep within the forest surrounding Karasuno. Akaashi can immediately feel the press of magic, an oppressive weight against his chest. His stomach flips uneasily. Beside him, Kuroo's expression is grim, and Yamaguchi has paled.

"Um, th-this is as far as I can take you, I'm sorry," he says, stopping abruptly. He hands Kuroo the pouch of gold that Sugawara gave them for the toll. "I wish you both the best of luck. I hope you find what you're looking for."

He bows deeply, before turning and scurrying off back the way they came. Kuroo turns to Akaashi with a raised eyebrow.

"Well . . . that's unsettling."

Akaashi resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Let's go."

The air seems to thicken as they move forward. It's not as though there's moisture in the air, it's like a tension, a sense of impending doom. Akaashi doesn't like it at all, but he thinks of the drawing Sugawara gave him, the root he needs to find in order to break his curse, and he continues forward, determined.

"I don't like this," Kuroo mutters, as the trees begin to get denser, growing closer together and blocking out the sun. "We're looking for a root in a forest full of roots, surrounded by magic that probably wants to kill us."

"You're free to turn back if you so wish," Akaashi says, keeping his eyes forward.

Kuroo glances sidelong at him before looking ahead. "I promised Kenma I'd bring you back safely. I intend to keep that promise."

_How noble._

Akaashi knows that's probably unfair. Kuroo's been nothing but kind to Kenma, and his affection for him is quite obvious. Akaashi also knows that it's most likely his own jealousy keeping him from liking Kuroo, rather than any distrust.

So, despite the fact that he has no intention of _befriending_ Kuroo on this journey, he figures he can at least be polite. For Kenma and Koutarou's sakes. To that end, he keeps his side comment to himself.

"Hold up," Kuroo says, stopping abruptly and holding his hand out in front of Akaashi.

Akaashi halts before he can run into the hand. He glances down at it, before looking over at Kuroo. He doesn't ask what's going on, because he can see the intensity on Kuroo's features. He sniffs the air slowly, his head tilting to the side.

"Someone's close. No . . . two someones. They smell . . . strange."

Akaashi tugs at the fingers of his glove. "Strange in what way?"

"Like . . . not quite human, but not quite faerie either." Kuroo looks toward him. "They have magic too, I can sense it."

_Through the fog of magic around us, you can sense it?_

"It's most likely the border guard," he reasons. "We have the toll, so we should be fine."

"Yeah . . ." Kuroo nods, but as he lowers his arm a stream of red magic encircles his hand before extending outward, creating a sword. He clutches the hilt tightly before stepping forward, ahead of Akaashi.

_He's taking this protection thing seriously._

Shaking his head, Akaashi follows Kuroo deeper into the forest. It's quiet. Much too quiet. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. There's no rustling of small animals in the underbrush, there's no birds twittering in the branches above them. It's only dark and silent. Akaashi can hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, hear Kuroo's quiet breathing ahead of him.

Slowly, he pulls his glove off completely, flexing his fingers. Kuroo stops suddenly, and Akaashi steps to the side quickly to avoid running into him. He's about to ask why he stopped, when he looks ahead of them and sees the reason himself.

Two figures stand in front of them, one taller than the other. They both have humanoid features, but their skin is covered in tiger stripes, and long tails flick back and forth in the air behind them. They have fuzzy ears atop their heads, and whiskers extending from their noses. The taller one is male, a brown loincloth tied around his waist. The shorter one is female, and she wears a two piece outfit, one cloth covering her chest, the other draped around her hips and falling to her knees. They're both barefoot, but instead of feet their legs descend into paws like a cat's.

It's fascinating, and even when the male snarls at them with a mouth full of sharp teeth, Akaashi can't help but be more intrigued than frightened.

"I am Taketora!" the male roars.

The female is quick to introduce herself as well. "And I am Akane!"

"And we are the guardians of this border!" They speak in unison, crossing their arms over their chests, and widening their stances.

Akaashi sees Kuroo's shoulders visibly relax. "Oh good, it's just the border guards."

Taketora puffs out his chest indignantly. " _Just_ the border guards? I'll have you know that my family has guarded these borders for generations!"

"Yeah!" Akane pipes up.

"We come from a powerful line of fae dating back centuries! Mortals have _quivered_ before—"

"But we just need to pay a toll, right?" Kuroo asks, and the sword in his hand disintegrates. He reaches into his knapsack and pulls out the pouch of gold Yamaguchi gave him.

Taketora's yellow-green eyes light up immediately, and Akane leaps forward to snatch the pouch from Kuroo's hand. She opens it, her large eyes scanning its contents quickly before she nods and waves her hand over it. In a spark of golden light it's gone, and she nods to her brother.

"It's all there."

Taketora drops his defensive stance. "Hmph, well, I guess you may proceed then." He steps to the side and gestures into the darkness of the forest beyond. "But beware; the magic of Shiratorizawa is strong and malicious toward unwelcome visitors. You might not come back alive." He twists his face into an expression best described as ridiculous, though Akaashi is sure he means for it to be terrifying.

He stifles a smile. "Thank you for the warning," he says, bowing slightly. Beside him, Kuroo does the same.

"We'll be fine," Kuroo says with full confidence.

The guardians regard them skeptically, but fall silent as Kuroo and Akaashi pass by them. Their eyes continue to watch them as they walk away, and that in of itself is more unsettling than any of their attempts at intimidation were.

The trees close in around them, swallowing them whole, as the air grows cooler and the press of magic continues to bear down on them. Akaashi slips his glove back on, watching Kuroo's back as he moves in front of him in an almost protective way, his head shifting back and forth as he looks for danger.

Akaashi can't help but smile faintly. "I can take care of myself, you know," he says, stepping up to walk beside Kuroo instead of behind. "My magic is strong, and I've been studying incantations since I was sixteen."

Kuroo glances over at him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. "Right, yeah, sorry." He lowers his hand and looks away into the trees once more. "Kenta used to say the same thing . . . he'd tell me he brought me along for my thieving expertise, not as a bodyguard." A faint smile tilts his lips, but it disappears almost as soon as it arrives.

Again, that pang of sympathy returns, despite Akaashi's best efforts to stay neutral. He knows what it's like to lose someone you love; he's felt the ache of loneliness. He can't imagine what Kuroo must have gone through, stepping out of Hell 600 years ahead of his time, recognizing nothing, his lover dead and gone . . .

_No wonder he latched onto Kenma so quickly._

He still doesn't like it, but he understands. Not sure what to say, however, he turns his eyes forward, folding his hands in his kimono sleeves once more.

"Sorry," Kuroo says after a few moments of silence. "You probably couldn't care less about my past. I'll try to keep my thoughts to myself."

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. "That's considerate of you."

Kuroo grins faintly. "I'm always this kind," he says, pressing a hand to his chest. "If you'd give me a chance, you'd see that."

Akaashi purses his lips. Before he can think of something to say, however, something rustles in the trees beside them. Akaashi stops walking abruptly, but he doesn't have time to prepare himself before vines lash out from the darkness and wrap around his legs, yanking him off his feet. Akaashi yelps involuntarily, as his world spins, and he finds himself dangling upside down. The vines wrap tighter around his legs and more begin to coil up to his hips and waist.

"Grab my hand!"

Kuroo is directly beneath him, reaching toward him, eyes wide. Akaashi struggles, as the vines begin to tighten around his stomach and chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Spots appear in his vision, but he stretches his arm out toward Kuroo, grimacing as the vines dig into his legs. His fingers only brush against Kuroo's, but then Kuroo jumps and grasps his hand completely. As he lands, he pulls, and though the vines constrict (causing Akaashi to cry out in pain as he hears a crack), Kuroo drags him closer to the ground. With his other hand, he raises the same sword from before.

Akaashi flinches, as it swings toward him. It slashes through the vines around his chest, and he's able to breathe again. He gasps for air, but as his lungs expand, pain shoots through his ribs. He stiffens, not wanting to agitate it further, but Kuroo pulls on his hand, fighting against the vines that continue to try and cocoon Akaashi.

Growling softly, Kuroo glances around before releasing Akaashi and sprinting toward the nearest tree. He runs up the side of it before jumping off and twisting through the air, slicing down at the vines suspending Akaashi above the ground. Akaashi's stomach flips, and he braces himself as he falls, expecting to break a few more bones. But as Kuroo lands the sword disappears, and he catches Akaashi easily in his arms.

"Can you run?" he asks, as he sets Akaashi on his feet and pulls away.

Akaashi nods, his heart pounding quickly in his throat. His chest aches, his ribs screaming at him, but if he needs to run, he'll run. Kuroo glances at the severed vines squirming on the ground like moss-colored snakes before jerking his head to the left.

"That way," he says, before taking off at a quick jog into the trees.

Akaashi hurries to follow, hearing the rustling of the trees around them. It's as though the forest has come alive, and it hungers. His lungs burn and he holds his side, as the pain sharpens with every step. He tries to breathe shallowly, but that only makes him dizzy.

Finally, he drops, unable to take another step. It feels as though a hundred knives are stabbing him right beneath his lungs. Kuroo hears him fall and turns, hastening to his side.

"Shit, okay, uh, get onto my back," he says, turning away from Akaashi.

Akaashi frowns. "If my skin touches yours—"

"Then don't let it touch me."

Kuroo's voice is sharp and direct, and Akaashi finds himself moving automatically in response to it. He wraps his arms around his neck, grateful for the long gloves, and hoists himself up with a grimace, wrapping his legs around his waist. Kuroo stands, and Akaashi tightens his hold in order to not slip off. Kuroo chuckles softly.

"You're like a spider monkey. That's cute."

Akaashi sighs. "Need I remind you that there are possibly carnivorous plants chasing us?"

Kuroo shifts slightly, his one hand moving down to grip Akaashi's thigh that's still covered by his kimono. With the other, he manifests another sword, before breaking into a jog once more. Akaashi bounces slightly on Kuroo's back, and it's extremely uncomfortable, but with the rustling growing louder around them, he endures it silently, not about to ask Kuroo to slow down.

Unfortunately, because of this, Akaashi can feel his kimono starting to shift beneath Kuroo's hand. He opens his mouth to warn him, but it's too late. Kuroo's thumb brushes against the skin of his outer thigh, and immediately he shouts in pain, snatching his hand away.

Akaashi quickly detaches himself from Kuroo's back, stumbling back a few paces until he's a safe distance away. He clutches at his side, wheezing softly against the ache in his ribs. Kuroo drops his sword, and it disintegrates like red smoke. He cradles his hand, inspecting his thumb. Already Akaashi can see the black mark sizzling on his skin. He pulled away quickly enough that it's not spreading further, but if it goes untreated . . .

"Kuroo-san, I—"

"It's okay," Kuroo says quickly, to Akaashi's surprise. He swings his knapsack off and rifles through it, drawing out a small jar. "I took some of that healing cream the faeries gave me. It's only been a few seconds, so maybe . . ." He opens the jar quickly, dipping his finger inside and then smearing the cream over his thumb. Instantly the mark stops sizzling, but the smell of burnt flesh lingers in the air.

Akaashi lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Kuroo glances up at him and gives him a crooked smile. It fades almost immediately, and he moves to stand.

"Are you okay? You're white as a sheet," he says, and he reaches toward him.

Akaashi jerks away quickly, though he can tell Kuroo was only going for his shoulder. It's instinct.

"I'm fine," he gasps, though the lingering pain in his ribs says otherwise.

Kuroo frowns, glancing back the way they'd come. The trees are silent now, the rustling no longer present. "I think we outran them." He turns back to Akaashi, and the worry in his gaze surprises him. _He_ was the one that got burned. Shouldn't he be irritated or something? Or at least be keeping his distance?

"Let me see," he says gently, nodding to Akaashi's side.

"It's nothing," Akaashi says, straightening slowly. "We should keep moving. We're still too close to those vines."

"Akaashi."

Something in Kuroo's voice causes him to pause. Sighing, Akaashi carefully tugs at the front of his kimono, loosening the folds to pull them aside and reveal the right side of his torso. Looking down, he can see the purpling bruise that covers his side along his ribcage. Grimacing, he looks back to Kuroo's face, noting the tightening of his lips.

"I don't know if the cream will work for internal injuries," he admits. "But I might be able to use my magic to fix it." He holds up his hand, and it begins to glow red.

Akaashi takes a quick step back, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. You're not using demon magic on me."

Kuroo frowns. "Akaashi, you can't travel like this. It won't be able to heal properly, you might make it worse, _and_ it'll slow you down. Come on, let me do this."

Akaashi sets his jaw. "And become tainted the way Kenma-kun has been? No, thank you."

Kuroo stills, his face paling. "Kenma's been tainted?"

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. "You haven't noticed? There's a crack in his aura. A dark stain that's usually caused by demon magic." He glances down at the bruise on his skin. "I assumed you were the one that put it there, by bonding with Kenma-kun."

Kuroo's voice is soft as he replies. "I haven't bonded with Kenma . . ."

Looking up, Akaashi studies Kuroo's face. He looks stricken, like Akaashi's punched him hard across the face. "I know. Kenma-kun told me as much. But if it wasn't you, then it was the demon prince who opened the Hell Mouth. They would have had to share magic to do so, and some of it must still be lingering inside of Kenma-kun."

Kuroo swallows hard. "But . . . that'll fade, won't it? He'll be okay."

Akaashi shifts his gaze toward the ground. "I don't know. It depends on how much magic the demon shared with him."

"Fuck. _Shit_." Kuroo runs his hand through his hair agitatedly. "Can you heal it yourself then? We have to keep moving. We have to get back to him."

_We?_ Akaashi wonders if he'll ever stop being surprised by Kuroo. "I can try," he says, moving to sit gingerly.

Kuroo watches, chewing on his lip, while Akaashi gathers his magic and places his hand over the bruised area of skin. He murmurs the incantation for healing, knowing it works on external wounds from experience, but never having used it for something like this before. Healing takes energy, and he can feel sweat starting to gather against his temples, as he pushes the golden stream of magic into his skin.

He hisses softly, as he feels his bones begin to mend, shifting back into place. He closes his eyes, focusing on that single spot inside him. The sharp pain begins to fade to a dull ache, and then it fades completely. Opening his eyes, he pulls his hand away. The skin is still bruised and slightly swollen, but when he twists his torso experimentally, he feels good as new.

Standing, Akaashi fixes his kimono. He feels somewhat weak, but at least now he can walk on his own. He lifts his head to see Kuroo still watching him. His head is tilted now, his expression one of faint amazement.

"You're pretty powerful, aren't you?" he observes, his mouth twitching into another crooked smile.

Akaashi can't help the smirk that tilts his lips in response. "You'd best not forget it."

Kuroo's smile widens into a grin, and he gestures ahead of him. Akaashi takes the lead, holding his head high as he passes and doing his best not to appreciate Kuroo's eyes watching him.

 

 

 

***

 

Kenma knew he'd miss Keiji and Kuroo. What he doesn't expect is the aching hole in his chest that grows steadily the longer the two are away. He doesn't even have his games to distract him from the lonely nights, and he's taken to wandering around the palace instead, sleeping wherever he drops when he grows too tired to move. His only comfort is in Shouyou, the young guardian-in-training he ran into his first day in Karasuno. For some reason Shouyou decided he liked Kenma instantly, and he usually appears out of nowhere whenever Kenma is feeling particularly down or homesick.

He's helped Kenma practice his magic through games and tricks that are actually more fun than Kenma first thought they'd be. They require much of his energy and focus, and while he doesn't like to put forth so much effort, it keeps his mind off the things that weigh on his spirit.

Bokuto's taken to joining them, which makes the games ten times rowdier. As a result, Kenma's been sitting out more often, content to watch the two feed off each other's excitement and enthusiasm. It's actually pretty entertaining and hearing their shouts of praise and peals of laughter makes Kenma's chest feel lighter.

It's only been a few days since Kuroo and Keiji left, but it feels like much longer. As Kenma sits on the front steps of the palace, he can't help but feel anxious. He hugs his knees to his chest, staring off down the path to the gates of the palace wall where he last saw them in person. They've both been checking in at night before Kenma starts his wanderings. The scrying glass Sugawara gave him begins to shimmer, and Kenma clutches the sides in both hands tightly, as Keiji or Kuroo's face appears. They speak only briefly; Kenma never sure what to say. He just wants to look at them, to see that they're alive and well, but the journey has been grueling so far, apparently, because Keiji always says goodnight before long and severs the connection.

He hopes they're getting along okay. He doesn't like the thought of two of his favorite people disliking each other. It's mostly Keiji that needs to come around, though, and Kenma hopes that he does.

"KENMA!"

Kenma startles, as Shouyou appears in front of him with a wide grin. "Bokuto-san and I are playing a game in the courtyard! Come play with us!"

He latches onto Kenma's arm, tugging gently. Kenma inhales sharply, feeling the assault of Shouyou's aura. It's bright and colorful like Bokuto's, and somewhat overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It's full of happiness and excitement, rarely anything else. Exhausting, perhaps. But not unpleasant.

"What are you playing?" Kenma asks, allowing Shouyou to pull him to his feet. He supposes he's wallowed enough for today.

"We're catching rainbows! It's a game we just made up. You have to make a rainbow and then you throw it in the air! And the other person has to try and grab it and hold it before it disappears! If you drop or lose your rainbow, you're out!"

"Sounds tiring," Kenma says, knowing it takes a lot of energy to make and sustain a rainbow. You have to manifest water and light at just the right balance and bend it to create the colors needed. Not to mention having to leap through the air to catch a thrown rainbow before it falls apart.

"You can be our rainbow thrower! Bokuto and I will catch them! That way you can just sit on the fountain!" Shouyou tilts his head then, studying Kenma closely. "Unless . . . you don't want to play?"

Kenma allows a small smile. "I'll play."

"YAY!" Shouyou jumps into the air with a wide grin. He then pulls Kenma down the steps toward the courtyard. There are several fountains and gardens and topiaries, but Shouyou leads him toward the fountain with the statue of man sitting on his heels with his arms outstretched, birds perched on them and his shoulders and head, with more pecking the "ground" beside him. It's Shouyou's favorite fountain ("I like birds!").

Bokuto's already there, sitting on the fountain and making tiny rainbows in his palms, each one appearing and disappearing within a second or two. He seems frustrated, though Kenma thinks his grasp on magic and how to wield it has progress faster than a normal person's would have. Less than a week ago, he didn't even know he _had_ faerie magic within him.

He grins when he looks up and sees Kenma and Shouyou approaching. He drops the rainbow and it disappears, but he doesn't seem to mind as he waves at them.

"Hey, hey, hey! You got him to come!"

"He's going to be our rainbow thrower! We gotta catch them and make sure we don't lose them. First one to lose his rainbow is the loser!"

"Okay!"

Kenma shakes his head at the two of them, moving to sit on the fountain where Bokuto was. He pulls his legs up to cross them, inhaling deeply before letting the air out slowly. He reaches toward the water beside him, since that's easier, drawing a few droplets toward him. He concentrates then, pulling his magic out to surround the water with golden light. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth, as he bites down on it, focusing on bending the light the exact way he needs.

Finally a small rainbow appears in the palm of his hand. Pleased, he glances up to see Shouyou and Bokuto both looking at him in wonder.

"That's so cool! You're so cool, Kenma!" Shouyou exclaims. "Toss it to me!"

Bokuto waves his hand in the air. "No, no, toss it to me first! To me!"

Kenma stifles a laugh, and throws the rainbow into the air between the two. Let them figure it out. They both leap toward it, but Shouyou is faster and can jump higher, and he snatches the rainbow away from Bokuto's reaching hands, just as Kenma draws some more water to him to make a second rainbow.

"Yay! I caught it!"

"But will you be able to hold it steady in the face of . . . A Tickle Monster?!" Bokuto exclaims, before grabbing Shouyou around the waist and tickling his sides.

Shouyou erupts into laughter, and the rainbow in his hands wobbles. "No! No! Stop! you can't—that's cheating!"

Kenma tries to drown out the noise to focus on the second rainbow. For some reason, this one seems more difficult than the first. His magic seems to be resisting his pull, and when he finally does get the light to manifest, its tinted red.

_Red . . ._

The crimson light dances around the water, turning the small spheres red. The more Kenma stares at them, the more they seem to resemble eyes. Red eyes . . .

_"You_ do _realize that if you kill me, you'll also be killing him, right?"_

A mocking laugh rings in his ears. Kenma flinches, the water losing shape and falling onto his palm, sliding down his wrist in red rivulets like blood. He struggles to breathe. It feels like a weight has been placed on his chest, and that darkness he felt the day before Keiji and Kuroo left rises up into his throat, threatening to choke him.

_“You're being troublesome, Kozume-chan. If you come with me, if you help me, nobody needs to get hurt.”_

Kenma presses his hands to his ears, squeezing tightly. He can hear Shouyou and Bokuto calling to him, and he feels hands on his arms. He lashes out before he can think, shoving his magic outward with as much force as he can. When he opens his eyes, he sees Bokuto and Shouyou on the ground, each of them staring at him with a stunned expression.

Guilt twists his stomach, but the panic is still there, rising faster. The darkness inside him is going to consume him. He glances between the two in front of him. He can't stop it on his own. He needs . . .

He takes a stumbling step toward Shouyou.

"K-Kenma? What's wrong with you?" His friend's voice sounds small, afraid. His eyes are wide in his round face, and his lower lip trembles.

Kenma stops abruptly. He can't do it. He can't take Shouyou's magic to expel the darkness. Instead, he drops to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his head, shuddering.

The darkness claws at his chest, the pain making him gasp. Strong arms come around him, picking him up. He's vaguely aware of Bokuto saying they need to get him to Sugawara-sama, but all sound is muffled, as though very far away. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries with all his might to bring forth his magic, the untainted, golden warmth he's familiar with. It struggles against the dark stain, fights against it, but the images in Kenma's head go between Oikawa Tooru's mismatched eyes with that wild expression, and the sight of Kuroo in that cage, demon possessed, leering at him with a mouth full of sharp teeth.

He sees himself stabbing Kuroo in the chest, feels the heat of his blood sliding over his fingers. He sees the way his eyes fade from red to gold, as his chest shivers and he takes his last breath.

_We killed him. We killed him and then we opened the Hell Mouth anyway._

Bokuto bursts into the throne room without regard for the guards waiting on the other side. He stops short before they can skewer him with their spears.

"Help! Something's happening to Kozume!"

Kenma can't control his limbs. They twitch and shake in Bokuto's arms. His head lolls back, as flashes of memories run through his mind, memories that aren't his. They're fractured, disjointed, and black smoke crawls over each scene. He hears someone screaming. It sounds like Kenta.

Then he realizes it's him.

Sugawara appears beside him, and a cool hand rests against his face.

"Sleep, child," he says gently, and everything fades to black.

 

 

When he opens his eyes, he's lying on his back on the futon in his room, covered in the soft comforter. The pain from earlier has completely abated, and he only feels a slight ache in his chest and head to remind him that it was there. He sits up tentatively, brushing his hair away from his face.

"Kenma!"

He flinches, as a small body launches itself at him, and thin arms wrap around his neck. It's only Shouyou, though, and Kenma takes a moment to bask in the warmth of him, in the pure joy and relief he feels in his aura. He wraps his arms around the faerie in return, burying his nose in the soft skin of his neck.

"I'm so glad you're okay! I was really worried!"

"Sorry," Kenma murmurs.

"Hey hey hey!"

Bokuto's voice causes him to pull away, and he braces himself for another hug, but Bokuto simply stands at the end of his bed, looking very pleased with himself, hands on his hips.

"Sugawara-sama fixed you up good! You don't look like death anymore. That was pretty smart of me to take you to him, huh?"

Kenma fights a smile. "I guess."

"You guess?" Bokuto deflates, obviously having expected praise of some kind.

"I mean, you probably saved my life so . . . yeah. It was smart."

Bokuto puffs up again, but he's gently pushed aside by Sugawara himself, who looks down at Kenma with a faint smile, though his eyes seem worried.

"I was able to push back the demon magic that was trying to consume you, but that fix won't be permanent, I'm afraid. It's latched onto something, or it was pushed so deeply into your aura that it's been absorbed. I'm not sure I can dispel it completely, though there are cleansing rituals you can perform that will keep it at bay."

Kenma suppresses a shudder. "Am I becoming a demon?" he asks quietly.

Sugawara shakes his head. "No, no. You would need to be filled with much more demon magic and then killed for that to happen. But the small piece that's inside of you now is attempting to do it anyway. It won't be successful on its own, but it will cause you much pain as it tries."

Kenma looks down at his hands, noticing his fingers have been bandaged. Shouyou reaches out to take one, squeezing gently. "I'll help you with the ritual, Kenma. Sugawara-sama showed us how to do it."

Sugawara nods. "It must be performed once every few days. I've already done it today, so you won't need to worry about doing it again for now."

Bokuto grins. "It was pretty cool!"

Kenma glances around at the three in front of him, his chest aching for a different reason. As grateful as he is for their help, he can't stop himself from wishing they were someone else. He wants Mori, Keiji . . . Kuroo.

_Tetsurou . . . does he know what this feels like? When the demon fused with him as he died, did he go through pain like this?_

"Thanks," he says quietly, glancing toward the pillows beside him. "I want to sleep now."

"Of course," Sugawara says gently. "I'll have someone check in on you in a little while to bring you something to eat and drink. Bokuto, Shouyou. Let's let him rest."

He guides the two of the room, though they leave reluctantly, and Kenma falls back against the pillows, tears stinging his eyes. He reaches under the pillow beneath him, drawing out the scrying glass. Glancing outside, he sees there's still daylight, so Keiji or Kuroo probably won't answer if he calls. He sighs, hugging the glass to his chest.

While the demon magic attacked him, why had he seen Kenta's memories? Why had they felt like they belonged to him?

"I'm not Kenta. I'm not Kenta," he says softly into the stillness of the room. "I'm Kenma. My name is Kenma."

_I'm Kenma._

He pulls the glass away from him, biting his lip. He's seen a glass like this before. In Mori's room. What if . . .

He waves his hand across the surface, pulling up Mori's face in his mind, envisioning him sitting beside him, his hand stroking his hair. More tears burn the corners of his eyes, but he holds them back resolutely. The surface of the glass shimmers, and then Mori's face appears in it, eyes wide.

"Kenma!"

Kenma stifles a sob.

Mori leans closer to the glass, his expression growing concerned. "Are you okay? What happened? Where are you?"

Kenma shakes his head, knowing if he speaks he'll start crying, and he doesn't want to do that. He already feels weak enough.

Mori leans back slowly. "Do you just need me to talk?"

Kenma nods, and Mori exhales slowly. "Okay. Well, the shop is running smoothly, which is surprising considering Lev manages to knock something over every five minutes. I'm pretty sure those aisles weren't meant for abnormally long people like him."

Kenma snorts softly, the ache in his chest easing somewhat. Mori smiles back at him gently, before continuing. He talks more about the shop, about his grandmother, about their classes at Nekoma. He mentions that Kenma's classmates ask about him frequently, and he's been telling them that Kenma's parents took him on an archeological dig in Russia. He talks about his relationship with Lev and how it's progressing with shocking smoothness, and how Lev _still_ manages to talk his way out of studying for school by having Mori practice magic with him.

Eventually, Kenma's able to relax enough to drift to sleep, comforted by the familiar cadence of Mori's voice. It's almost like he's under the kotatsu table at home, and when he dreams it's of a rainy afternoon with Mori's hand in his hair, and a black cat purring softly, curled against his chest.

 

 

 

***

 

"You'll be greeted by one of Wakatoshi's men when you arrive," Sugawara says, standing before them with his hands clasped behind his back. "They've always been very hospitable and diplomatic, so you shouldn't run into any trouble with them. Nevertheless, I'm sending Tobio with you, just as a precaution."

Tooru wrinkles his nose, but Iwaizumi grabs his head and forces him into a bow before he can say anything, bowing himself a second later.

"Thank you. We'll do our best to complete this mission for you," he says, as he straightens.

The boy, Kageyama, doesn't seem pleased that he's been chosen to accompany them, or maybe that's just his default expression. Iwaizumi's seen him around the palace enough to know he's never seen the kid smile.

"Don't be nervous, YamaYama!" The small, orange-haired guardian-in-training showed up to apparently see Kageyama off. Iwaizumi isn't sure if they're friends exactly, but the kid waves frantically from the palace steps, grinning widely.

Kageyama scowls. "I'm not!" he shouts back, before turning his back on the other. The back of his neck seems red, and Iwaizumi has to fight a smile.

Sawamura steps forward, lifting the pendant around his neck. Iwaizumi's stomach flips uneasily, remembering the weird, icy and weightless feeling traveling through the portal that brought him here gave him. He's not looking forward to experiencing that again, but the only other option is to travel across the uncharted lands of Shiratorizawa along a path not traversed in fifty years. It's the safer option by far, but Iwaizumi's still grateful for Tooru's hand, as it grasps his shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

"Good luck," Sugawara says, taking a step back as Daichi mutters an incantation. The pendent begins to glow, as golden light streams from it, causing the ground in front of them to ripple like water.

Tooru steps forward first, disappearing into the moving ground with an ease and grace Iwaizumi envies. He follows suit, bracing himself for the unpleasant journey. It's over in an instant, thankfully, and he finds himself stumbling, teeth chattering, onto polished white marble. He nearly runs into Tooru's back, as he stands gazing up at the tall palace in front of them.

It's even taller and wider than the palace in Karasuno, looming at least ten stories, with multiple rooms on each floor expanding out at least fifty meters in either direction. The shingles of each roof are painted a deep maroon, and the polished wood of the walls are stained white with what appears to be real gold painted in the design of eagles flying across the front of the building.

Iwaizumi feels something hit his back, and he turns around to find Kageyama flushing and taking a quick step back.

"Sorry," he mutters, bowing slightly.

"It's fine," Iwaizumi assures him, turning back around as Tooru nudges him with his elbow.

The front doors of the palace are opening, and a young man steps through. His hair is bright red (too red for it to be his natural hair color, Iwaizumi thinks), and it's spiked up wildly from his head. He's wearing a pure white kimono, with a maroon obi that matches the color of the palace roofs. His geta click against the marble floor of the front dais, and a katana sits sheathed at his side. He grins, as he approaches them, and spreads his arms out wide.

"Welcome to Shiratorizawa! We've been expecting you!" He peers at Tooru then, his grin growing even wider. "Whoa, you're a scary looking guy, aren't you?"

Tooru starts. "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, your glamour is still in place. They just don’t work on me. I've got _special eyes_." He leans forward and winks slowly, as though letting them in on a big secret.

Tooru looks affronted at being called "scary," so Iwaizumi quickly steps forward before he can say anything stupid.

"We're here to see your king. Ushijima?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," the faerie says, waving his hand absently. "But first! I'm gonna show you to your rooms. Ushijima-sama is a very busy man, you know. He's got a big kingdom to take care of. He's in the middle of something right now, but we have a dinner planned for you the day after tomorrow. You can talk to him about whatever you need then!"

"The day after tomorrow?" Iwaizumi repeats, frowning slightly.

"Don't worry! Everything you need will be provided for you. We're very hospitable hosts. Ah, but I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Tendou Satori, captain of Ushijima-sama's guard, and his most trusted underling." He bows deeply with a flourish. "Not a lot gets past me, as I'm sure you've noticed." He winks again.

Tooru looks like he's bursting to say something, so Iwaizumi gestures toward the palace.

"Right, well, take us to the rooms then, I guess." He glances back at Kageyama, wondering if this sort of situation is normal. He doesn't seem fazed, but then again he kind of looks like he's spacing out so Iwaizumi can't really tell what he's thinking.

"Follow me!" Tendou beckons to them, before turning and leading them into the palace.

The pillars and walls inside have also been painted white, and the figure of an eagle is prominently displayed in nearly every decoration throughout. Tendou leads them up grand staircases two stories, chattering on about the magnificence of Shiratorizawa and his king. As they pass another faerie in the hall (a man with messy white hair dyed black at the tips, wearing a look of pinched exasperation and carrying a bundle of scrolls in his arms), Tendou snags his sleeve to stop him.

"Semi!"

The faerie, Semi, grimaces slightly, turning to look at Tendou with some annoyance. "What do you need, Tendou-san?"

"Have you seen my kitty? I haven't seen him since last night, and I’m getting rather worried!"

Semi rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "If you don’t have any _serious_ questions, I need to get these to our king." He shifts the scrolls in his arms.

"It is a serious question! He's never run off like this before!"

Semi gives Iwaizumi, Tooru, and Kageyama a glance. "Shouldn't you be focusing on our guests?"

"Why couldn't _he_ have been our guide?" Tooru asks, pointing. "He seems like a level-headed fellow."

Iwaizumi slaps Tooru's arm down.

"Trust me, I'd rather be escorting you then dealing with this," Semi says frankly. "But we all have our duties. Tendou-san seems to forget this, as he's often gallivanting around doing his own thing." Here he shoots another irritated look at the guard, who doesn't seem bothered by this observation.

"Is that a new kimono, Semi? It looks just like all your other ones! How lame."

"Geh." Semi swerves around them to storm off the way they'd just come.

"I'm his favorite," Tendou says confidently, before leading them further down the hall.

Iwaizumi's not sure what to make of this place. He thinks he's seen other staff members around, but they're silent and move quickly, almost as though they're avoiding detection. Semi is the only faerie Tendou's interacted with so far. Coming from a homey place like Karasuno, so far Shiratorizawa seems much more . . . intimidating.

He feels uneasy. Tendou's friendliness seems genuine, but the fact that they're yet again delaying their audience with Ushijima doesn't sit well with him.

"Okay, here we go~" Tendou gestures to three doors at the back of the hall of the third floor. "They've already been prepared. There's a bell by the door that you can ring if there's anything you need. Our servants are very good. Very prompt. Semi is kind of the head boss in charge of everything under Ushijima-sama, and everyone reports to him, so if you have a problem with anyone just let him know."

"Uh, right. Thanks," Iwaizumi says, not sure what else to say.

"No problem! Oh, and if you see a black cat around here somewhere let me know, will you?" He waves then, before sauntering off down the hall.

"Well." Iwaizumi looks at Tooru, but he's staring down the hall at the doors, biting his lip and frowning slightly. Turning to Kageyama, he's about to ask if Shiratorizawa is usually like this, but the young guardian-in-training is already stepping toward the closest room, sliding the door open before entering and shutting it firmly behind him.

Iwaizumi sighs, scruffing at his hair, as he turns back to Tooru. His frown has deepened, and he turns to meet Iwaizumi's gaze.

"I don't like this," he states. "Something's not right here."

"I feel it too," Iwaizumi admits. "There's just something . . . off. Maybe it was just him though. He seemed a little . . . weird."

Tooru snorts softly. "Understatement. Entertaining, though." He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. "But what I want to know is, _what_ exactly are we supposed to do for the next couple of days while we wait for His Royal Ushiwaka-ness to deign to see us?"

Iwaizumi shrugs. "I don't know. Find a library or . . . something?" He starts walking toward the room farthest down the hall. "Maybe there's a training room we can use. They pretty much said we could have whatever we wanted."

"Yes . . . such gracious hosts they are," Tooru murmurs, following him into the room.

It's spacious, with a large futon against the back wall covered with soft looking pillows and a comforter made of what looks like silk. There's a low table with cushions around it near the sliding doors that lead onto the balcony. A large wardrobe stands at the other end, taking up nearly the entire wall, and beside it there's a door that presumably leads to a toilet and bathroom. Two bookshelves sit on either side of the rice paper door, and an accordion wall leans against the wall by the bed. Iwaizumi wonders if that's supposed to go around the bed or simply divide the room in half.

"Nice room," he murmurs softly, glancing at the chain by the door that's attached to the bell Tendou mentioned.

Tooru steps over to the bed, flinging himself down onto it with a sigh. He rolls over then, frowning up at the ceiling, as he takes up nearly the entire space with his arms and legs spread out.

"I don't like that he could see through my glamour."

"They probably can't all do that, if that makes you feel any better," Iwaizumi says, checking out the wardrobe. There's a wide range of kimonos and yukata hanging in rows, with tabi and geta lining the floor. To the right is a set of drawers which hold the obi and loincloths.

Tooru is suddenly by his side, setting his chin on his shoulder and looking into the wardrobe with keen interest. "Ooh, what a good idea, Iwa-chan! We can try on these clothes to pass the time! It'll be fun!"

Iwaizumi quickly shuts the doors. "No way."

Tooru pulls back with a pout. "Iwa-chaaaaan."

"I'm not playing dress-up with you, what are we, five?"

Tooru hip-checks Iwaizumi to the side, reopening the doors to the wardrobe and peering inside, eyes gleaming. Glad that Tooru isn't upset anymore at least, Iwaizumi backs away to give him space, inspecting the books on the shelves instead. None of them look familiar, though they're all surprisingly in Japanese. Or, maybe that's not so surprising. The faeries _did_ come from Japan originally, after all. If Iwaizumi has his information right.

He pulls a few titles from the shelf, glancing through them. They seem to be mostly poetry and fiction. The writing seems pretentious and flowery, yet Iwaizumi finds himself flipping through more than one, intrigued in the unique descriptions. He's never read books like this before. He feels like he's being pulled into the imagery, like he's actually standing in that field or by that ocean. He can feel the grass beneath his feet, smell the salt in the air.

"Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi starts, as Tooru shouts in his ear. He shuts the book in his hand quickly, leaning away and frowning. " _What_?"

"I've been saying your name for like five minutes," Tooru says, frowning slightly. "What're you reading?"

"Oh, it's . . . nothing." Iwaizumi sets the book back on the shelf carefully. He looks over Tooru's outfit then, fighting a smile. He's wearing a light blue kimono that flatters his pale complexion very well. The obi is a deep red, and so are the tabi. With the geta, he stands even taller than Iwaizumi, which is a little annoying, but Iwaizumi is distracted by the bunching of the kimono around Tooru's waist. He smirks faintly, stepping forward to adjust the folds so they lay neater.

"You've always been bad at tying your obi," he says matter-a-factly.

"Mm, but I look good, don't I?" Tooru asks, stepping back and giving a little twirl.

Iwaizumi's chest tightens, and he nods once. "Yeah, not that that's really surprising . . ." He rubs the back of his neck, turning away before Tooru can react to the compliment. He approaches the wardrobe once more, looking over the selection again.

"Here, wear this one," Tooru says, reaching over his shoulder to pull out a dark red kimono. "This color always looks good on Iwa-chan."

Despite his protests earlier, Iwaizumi finds himself shrugging out of the yukata he'd worn to travel there. The silk of the kimono feels rich, somehow. He feels like a kid in a jewelry store with his mom, being allowed to hold one of the expensive watches ("but only for a moment, Hajime. You have to be careful"). Even the clothes at Karasuno weren't this fancy. He's just about to start wrapping it around his torso, when he feels a cold touch of fingertips against his back.

He stiffens, growing still as Tooru's fingers traverse across his skin, stroking the place where Iwaizumi knows a scar would be if Sugawara hadn't healed him completely.

"Amazing," he hears Tooru murmur behind him. "If you didn't know, it'd be like it never happened at all."

Iwaizumi swallows hard, turning around to face him. "Oikawa—"

He doesn't get to finish his thought. Tooru bends, pressing his lips against his, as his hand comes up to rest against the side of his neck, cradling his jaw gently. Iwaizumi isn't sure how he wants to respond. On the one hand, he still has feelings for Tooru. Strong ones. That hasn't changed despite everything that's happened. He knows he's in love with his best friend.

He's just not sure he should be.

It complicated things more than he thought it would. And after everything Tooru did to bring about the Hell Mouth opening . . . it seems like being in love with a half-demon isn't something that's _healthy_ for him.

He wants to not care. He wants desperately to just pretend like everything can be the way it was that night in his room, before Tooru left him. He wants to feel the way he did while engulfed in Tooru, surrounded by him, like it was just the two of them, together as one at the end of the world. Everything began and ended with Tooru that night, but Iwaizumi's since realized that they probably moved too fast too soon.

And he's not sure what to do about that now.

_What's the right thing to do? I don't know what to do._

"Iwa-chan," Tooru murmurs against his lips, trying to urge him to respond. His other hand rests against Iwaizumi's waist, and he runs his thumb along his abdomen slowly.

Iwaizumi shivers, and sets his hand on Tooru's shoulder, pushing him away gently.

"Oikawa—" he tries again, but Tooru shakes his head quickly, tears filling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just . . . please. I love you. I love you, Hajime."

The desperation in Tooru's voice tears at his heart, but Iwaizumi can't bring himself to move. His throat feels tight, and the hand on Tooru's shoulder trembles slightly.

" _Oikawa._ " He tries to make it an admonishment, but it comes out strangled, like he's in pain.

Tooru buries his face in Iwaizumi's neck, kissing at his skin gently. He moves his lips down along Iwaizumi's collarbone to his chest, lowering to his knees before him, as he continues to press soft kisses against his stomach and abdomen. Heat coils in Iwaizumi's stomach, and he quickly steps away out of reach, his back hitting the wood of the wardrobe behind him. The kimono falls to the floor, forgotten, as Iwaizumi stares down at Tooru, panting softly.

Tooru bows his head, a shudder running visibly down his spine.

"What are you doing?" Iwaizumi asks helplessly then.

"I just . . ."

"I told you I needed time to figure things out. You can't just . . . you can't just _do_ shit like this." Iwaizumi runs a shaky hand through his hair, sighing deeply and trying to loosen the knot in his chest.

Tooru stands slowly, his eyes still on the floor. "You can't take it back."

Iwaizumi jolts, his back scraping against the edge of the wardrobe door near its hinges. "What?"

Tooru lifts his head, and though there are tears in his eyes, his expression is twisted into one of anger and hurt. "What happened between us that night _happened_. You can't take it back!"

Iwaizumi frowns. "I know I can't."

"But you wish you could, you practically admitted that already. And that . . . that _hurts_ , Hajime!" His hands clench into fists at his side.

"Don't act like you're the only victim here," Iwaizumi snarls, taking a step forward. " _You_ were the one who ran away. _You_ chose to lie to me."

"I never lied to you!"

"You didn't tell me the truth, and that's practically the same thing! You used my feelings for you to distract me from what was going on! How am I supposed to trust you after that?"

"I was trying to _protect_ you!"

"I don't need your protection!"

They're in each other's faces now, so close Iwaizumi can feel the heat of his breath on his cheek. Tooru's left eye flashes red, his glamour flickering as his emotions grow heightened.

"Yes, you _do_! You're human! You-you're _breakable_!"

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?!"

Tooru's mouth snaps shut, and he reels back as though Iwaizumi has physically hit him. Iwaizumi feels nauseated, instantly regretting the words.

_Shit._

Tooru purses his lips, turning toward the door. Iwaizumi steps forward quickly, grasping at his sleeve.

"Tooru . . ."

Tooru glances over his shoulder, eyes brimming with tears once more. "Everything I've ever done has been for you, Iwa-chan. I loved you from the moment I saw you, and all I've ever wanted to do was protect you." He sniffles, turning his face away again. "I'm sorry if I did it wrong."

Iwaizumi feels like he's been punched in the gut. His fingers fall away, resting listlessly at his side. He doesn't know what to say. He wishes he was better at words.

"I just . . . wanted you to trust me. With everything. I wanted to be by your side through it all. I wanted us to face all that shit _together_. I just . . . I didn't want you to be alone." He stares down at the floor, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry too."

"Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi lifts his gaze hesitantly to find Tooru watching him closely. He holds out his fist then, and Iwaizumi looks down at it blankly, not sure what Tooru is offering.

"I want us to face shit together too," he says, one side of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Can we be partners again?"

Iwaizumi breathes a sigh of relief. He's not sure it can be that easy but . . . he wants to try. He doesn't want to lose his best friend. He lifts his hand to bump his knuckles against Tooru's, nodding.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	21. in the wind of change

 

 

 

all is change; all yields its place and goes;   
to persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in a man.

\--euripides

* * *

 

 

Kuroo is really fucking tired of things trying to kill him. He's exhausted, his muscles ache, and he has no idea if they're getting any closer to finding that stupid root. Akaashi's been looking, Kuroo knows he has. He even came up with a spell that will alert him if the root is in the area. But there's been no alert so far, and it's been a week.

At least things with Akaashi have calmed down. Meaning, they no longer feel the urge to kill each other. Kuroo guesses going through life-threatening experiences will do that to a person. He's not sure Akaashi _likes_ him yet, but he's definitely more tolerant. And he's saved his life. More than once.

A couple days ago it was a sinkhole. Kuroo was walking in front of Akaashi as usual, sword at the ready, when the ground suddenly disappeared from under him. Thankfully, Akaashi's quick thinking got him out, as he enchanted a vine to grab him and yank him back onto solid ground. He seemed embarrassed by this, so Kuroo didn't bring it up other than to say thank you.

Yesterday, they were attacked by some sort of giant rodent. After Kuroo cut down the one that leapt onto Akaashi's back, he found himself being dragged down by another, possibly the first one's mate. Again, Akaashi saved him, and Kuroo got to see his curse in action, as the rodent's fur melted away, followed by muscle and bone. The shrieking had been terrible.

Neither of them slept that night.

Not that Kuroo's been sleeping well anyway. Every night they check in with Kenma and Koutarou, but Akaashi keeps the conversations short, saying he doesn't want to worry them. This doesn't help Kuroo's worry for Kenma, however. He keeps thinking of what Akaashi said, about him being tainted by demon magic. When he asked Kenma about it himself, he insisted he was fine but . . . Kuroo can't help but be concerned.

_Is it our fault that he's tainted? Did we do that to him when we gave him our magic at the Hell Mouth?_

_[it's possible. but remember the half-demon also shared quite a bit of magic with him. it could be his fault, or a combination of the two.]_

_That's not exactly reassuring._

_[was it not you who told me that the boy is strong? he'll be fine.]_

The whisper has a point there. But although Kuroo has no doubt that Kenma can figure things out, that doesn't make him want to be at his side any less. There's an ache in his chest, and every time he thinks of Kenma it grows stronger. He remembers how it felt to hold him in bed, how small and soft and warm he was. The nights out in the forest are cold, the ground hard, and Kuroo finds himself shivering often despite the blanket he brought with him.

Akaashi never complains about the cold or the loneliness he must feel being stuck out here with someone he doesn't even like. He's quiet, never really speaking unless spoken to unless he has a suggestion for a resting place. Kuroo wishes he knew what was going on in his head. He knows Kenma wants him and Akaashi to become friends, but he's finding it difficult to do so when Akaashi will barely look at him.

He's been like that ever since Kuroo accidentally burnt himself on Akaashi's thigh. The wound has healed since then, thanks to his own regenerative abilities and the healing cream he brought from Karasuno. But even so, Akaashi keeps his distance, never venturing too close to Kuroo.

"You know, you don't have to be so cautious around me," Kuroo says one night, looking across their small fire to the young man sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, huddled beneath his blanket. "My thumb is better, and it's not like I don't know to be careful." He lifts the edge of his own blanket. "Come on, it'll be warmer under here."

Akaashi gives him a withering look. "I'm not going to cuddle with you, Kuroo-san."

"Why not? it's better than sitting alone in the cold," Kuroo says pointedly. He wiggles the blanket. "Come _on_. Kenma will have my head if I let you die of frostbite."

Akaashi rolls his eyes. "It's hardly cold enough for frostbite."

Still, he eyes the spot beside Kuroo and then stands, moving around the fire to sit beside him. He keeps a few inches of space between them, but he does grab the edge of the blanket and pulls it around his shoulder.

"Thank you," he murmurs after a moment, looking into the fire.

"No problem," Kuroo offers, watching Akaashi's profile.

The orange light flickers over his features, illuminating it in a way that enhances the delicate lines of his face. He's incredibly pretty; Kuroo's noticed that before. But up close, he can see the minor flaws; the circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, the tension in his jaw. He looks weary, in a different way than one would expect being on a dangerous journey.

_This curse must be a terrible burden. He lives alone in that house. Did his family leave him because of the curse? Did they leave because he hurt one of them?_

He remembers the horror on Akaashi's face after Kuroo touched him and got burned. Kuroo's not sure if Akaashi noticed himself, but he was trembling and looked like he was going to be sick. It'd been worrying.

"Hey," he says softly.

Akaashi says nothing in response, but his eyes flicker to the side briefly in acknowledgement.

"We're going to find that root. You're going to break your curse."

Akaashi turns his gaze back the fire. "I know."

Kuroo bites his lip. "And I . . . I want you to know that when we get back, I'm not going to stand in the way of you having Kenma, if that's who you want. I think it'd be shitty of you to do that to Bo but . . . I know how much Kenma means to you. And how much you mean to Kenma. I'm not going to come between you two. I never meant to in the first place."

Akaashi purses his lips. "I love Bokuto-san," he says firmly. "I've said that time and again. My feelings for Kenma-kun don't change that. Even if I do . . . wish to kiss and hold Kenma-kun, as I have for quite some time, I'm not going to leave Bokuto-san." He tilts his head to the side slightly. "I will, however, ask his permission to kiss Kenma-kun once I break this curse." He glances over at Kuroo, before lowering his gaze. "I've been meaning to ask your permission as well."

Kuroo blinks. "My permission? Why would you need mine?"

"You and Kenma-kun—"

"Are not together." Kuroo shakes his head, his chest squeezing at the admission. He looks at the fire, wrapping his free arm around his stomach. "We're not . . . exclusive. I'm not sure what we are, to be honest. I just . . . I love him. And he . . . cares about me, I guess. But he doesn't trust me. Not in the way he trusts you."

He frowns down at his legs crossed beneath him. "I don't blame him for that. I . . . I called him Kenta, once. It hurt him deeply, I know it did. I don't think he trusts that I won't do it again. That I won't look at him and see Kenta . . ." He sighs, running his hand through his hair. "But I'm working on it. I _do_ see him as Kenma. And I love him as Kenma. Hopefully one day he'll believe that."

For a few moments neither of them speaks, and then Kuroo feels a soft bump against his shoulder. When he lifts his head and glances over, he sees Akaashi leaning back from the nudge.

"Kenma-kun loves you," Akaashi says quietly, keeping his eyes on the fire. The dark green irises look almost black, and they reflect the flames flickering back and forth.

Kuroo feels the bottom of his stomach drop at these words. He swallows hard. "What?"

Akaashi turns his head to look at him fully. His gaze is deep, intense, and Kuroo feels an involuntary shiver run down his spine.

"You told me not to underestimate your love for Kenma-kun. Now I'm telling you not to do the same to him. From the way Kenma-kun speaks of you, the way he looks at you, gravitates toward you . . . it's obvious that he loves you. He's being cautious, perhaps, and there's no denying his feelings for me. But I would say he feels much more toward you than simple care, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo stares at him until he turns back to face the fire. His chest aches, but in a different way this time. It feels full. Warm. Happy. He doesn't know if Akaashi's completely right about this, but he _sounds_ sure of himself. He kind of wants to hug Akaashi, but he knows that'd be inadvisable, considering.

Still.

"Thank you," he says, as genuinely as he can. He grins then, knocking his shoulder lightly against Akaashi's. "This was nice. I feel like we actually got some bonding time and grew as people."

Akaashi huffs, making a sound that could be a laugh. Maybe. "Don't get used to it. I'm not planning on becoming your friend or anything like that."

"No, but you like me." Kuroo says, not deterred. "You gotta like me at least a little bit to try and cheer me up like that."

"Maybe I simply don't want you moping throughout the rest of our journey."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it's because you like me."

Akaashi sighs. "You're a pain the ass."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

Akaashi lifts his hand. "I can take off this glove at any time, you know," he says, deadpan.

Kuroo laughs, leaning away. "Okay, okay, I'll stop." He straightens once Akaashi lowers his hand. "I know you wouldn't really hurt me, though."

Akaashi purses his lips. "Do you?"

Kuroo studies his profile closely. "The way you reacted when I burned my thumb . . . For all your threats, I don't think you could go through with purposefully hurting someone with your curse. Even me."

Akaashi doesn't move or speak. He stares into the fire, brows furrowed slightly before answering. "You are with me on this quest simply because the others felt I needed a protector. I didn't believe I would, but after the incident with the vines, I know better. Still, the fact remains that if it wasn't beneficial for me to have you here I would've left you behind our first night out here."

Kuroo isn't sure what to say. He knows Akaashi has plenty of reason to distrust him, even hate him, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing the kid could see that he means well and wants to do right by all of them. Kenma, Koutarou, _and_ Akaashi.

"I know you don't trust me," he starts carefully. "And I know you have plenty of reasons to dislike me. You were probably really lonely in that house by yourself, and then you had Bokuto and Kenma, before I came along and messed things up for you. That truly wasn't my intention. I'm not trying to take them from you, Akaashi. I hope you know that."

He can't read Akaashi's expression, and the latter stands abruptly.

"We should sleep," he says, not looking down at Kuroo. "We have no idea what else is out there. We can at least face it well-rested."

"Right, yeah," Kuroo says, watching him walk around the fire to his previous position on the other side. He picks up the edge of the blanket Akaashi dropped, pulling it around himself, shivering slightly as the warmth from Akaashi's presence fades.

_[i don't know that words are going to work with this one.]_

_You're probably right. I'll just have to keep trying to prove myself, I guess._

_[don't wear yourself out. it's not really worth all this effort.]_

_Yes, it is. He's important to Kenma. I want us to be on good terms._

The whisper doesn't reply to that, so Kuroo sighs and lies down in the grass. He closes his eyes, as he listens to Akaashi prepare for sleep across from him. He can hear him pulling the scrying glass out of his knapsack, the sound quite familiar by now. Reaching toward his chest, Kuroo pulls out the amber stone that's now attached to the red ribbon. He had the jeweler back in Karasuno convert it into a necklace, with this stone that reminded him of Kenma's eyes. He's fairly certain Kenma won't ever want the ribbon back, and it's nice to have something to remember him by on this trek.

He turns the stone over in his fingers slowly, stroking the smooth surface, as he listens for Kenma's voice over the glass.

"Hey."

It's soft, almost tender, and Kuroo's chest tightens.

"Hey," Akaashi replies, also quiet, though Kuroo can hear the affection in his voice. "I apologize for calling so late."

"I wasn't asleep."

"Are you doing well?"

"Mm, yes."

Kuroo frowns faintly, hearing the lie. He contemplates sitting up and confronting Kenma about it, but Akaashi must have heard it too.

"Kenma-kun, please tell the truth. I'm worried about you."

"Suga-san is helping me. The episodes aren't as painful as they were before."

Akaashi sighs softly. "I'm glad."

"How are you?"

"We're . . . managing. We haven't located the root yet, but I'm not giving up."

"That doesn't answer my question." Kenma's voice hardens slightly. "You look tired, and your face is really pale."

"I'm just not used to traveling. I promise I'm fine."

"I want to talk to Kuroo."

Kuroo quickly tucks the stone back into his shirt, tuning onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow to look over at Akaashi. Akaashi gives him a glance that speaks of distaste before tossing him the scrying glass. Kuroo catches it neatly, lifting it to see Kenma's face looking back at him. Immediately, his chest seizes up, and he has to resist stroking the glass with his fingers.

"You wanted to see me?" he says instead, offering a crooked grin.

"Are you keeping your promise?" Kenma asks without preamble.

Kuroo huffs. "Of course I am. I'm not sure Akaashi appreciates it, but I've got his back. He's got mine too. He saved my life the other day."

Glancing over the top of the glass, he watches as Akaashi's shoulders stiffen. He doesn't turn around, though, so Kuroo can't see what expression he's making.

"I told you he wouldn't hurt you." Kenma's lips twitch in what might be a smirk.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure he still doesn't trust me." Kuroo rolls onto his back, holding the scrying glass above his head and grinning. "I'll win him over though."

He glances at his thumb with the scorched skin still scarring it. He tucks it beneath his palm. While he's not sure why it's scarred when all his other previous injures have faded, he's not about to let it keep him from becoming Akaashi's friend. It's a challenge as much as it's a desire to get to know the young man. During the time spent with him, Kuroo's actually grown to like him. He's quiet and reserved, but in a different way than Kenma. He's fairly sure it's not from self-consciousness as much as Akaashi just doesn't feel the need to talk very much. And his wit is something Kuroo can definitely appreciate.

He seems sad, mostly, and Kuroo can't help but want to cheer him up.

Kenma tilts his head slightly. "You look tired and pale too."

Kuroo quickly gives him another grin. "Don't worry. We're holding up. These endless knapsacks are great too. I pretty much have the entire Karasuno kitchen here, so it's not like we're going to starve." He blows a strand of hair out of his face. "Could use a shower though."

"Aren't you used to not showering?" Kenma asks, deadpan.

"Hey, just because I lived in ancient times before indoor plumbing doesn't mean I like to stink. Rivers and ponds existed back then too, you know."

Kuroo lets go of the glass with one hand to push back his hair, in order for Kenma to see the full effect of his indignant scowl. Unfortunately, the glass slips out of his other hand, gravity and its surprisingly hefty weight combined being too much for his casual grip. It lands heavily on his face, and he yelps, more in shock than in pain (though he feels like he might've broken his nose).

Akaashi lifts his head to look over, rolling his eyes when he sees what happened. When Kuroo lifts the mirror away, Kenma's laughing.

"Stob it. It's nod thad funny!" Holding his nose to stop the bleeding, Kuroo struggles to hold his frown, as the sight and sound of Kenma's laugh fills his chest with a weightless feeling. It's so rare that he sees and hears it. "And I'mb okay, by the way."

Kenma's laugh fades to a grin, and he ducks his head, allowing his hair to swing forward and hide his face. Kuroo's fingers ache, longing to reach out and tuck that hair back. He tightens his grip on the mirror.

"I miss you," he says quietly, releasing his nose.

He can't see Kenma's expression behind his hair. "Bokuto wants to talk to you," he says, and hands the glass over before Kuroo can stop him.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto grins at him. "Dude! What happened to your face? Did Akaashi punch you?"

Akaashi snorts from where he's laying, and Kuroo grins. "No, I just did something stupid. How are you? You look good."

Bokuto beams. "I'm great! I'm learning a lot about magic. Suga-san says I'm a fast learner, faster than he's ever seen. I'm like . . . the ace of magic!"

Kuroo laughs. "I'm not sure that's a thing, but if it is I wouldn't doubt that you're it."

Bokuto brings his face closer to the scrying glass. "Kozume's been helping me a lot too, with remembering details and shit. He's pretty cool. I can see why you and Akaashi like him so much."

Kuroo glances over at Akaashi, but he's still turned away. "Yeah . . . hey, you should talk to him. He could use some cheering up, I think."

Bokuto tilts his head. "Is he okay?"

"I think so. Just . . . he could use a smile."

Bokuto grins. "I'm _great_ at making him smile!"

Shaking his head with a fond smile of his own, Kuroo crawls over to Akaashi, touching his shoulder gently. "Hey," he says, setting the scrying glass on the ground in front of him. "Don't worry about time, okay? We can afford to sleep in a little."

Akaashi picks up the glass, not looking at him. Bokuto's face is even closer in the glass now, as he peers through it at Akaashi's face.

"Akaashi!" he cries happily. "It's been so long!"

"It's been a day, Bokuto-san."

"I know! Twenty-four whole hours! That's much too long!"

Kuroo heads back to his spot on the other side of the fire, but not before catching the tiny smile that already started to form on Akaashi's face. Feeling like he accomplished something good, he settles down to sleep, pulling the blanket up over him once more.

_[you really are always this kind, aren't you? it kind of pisses me off.]_

_Get on my level, fucktruck._

_[i'll pass. it seems like a waste when you don't get much in return.]_

Kuroo tilts his head back slightly, catching the soft sound of Akaashi's laugh. He smiles faintly.

_I get plenty in return._

 

 

 

The trees finally give way to an open space. Humidity dampens the air, and a thick fog hovers above the ground. Squinting into the haze, Kuroo can make out thick, coarse grass rising to nearly knee-height. He places his hand out to stop Akaashi from advancing.

"It's a swamp," he says, trying to see through the heavy, white mist. "We should be careful. Who knows what kind of creatures might be lurking here." He glances to the side. "Maybe we can go around it."

Akaashi shakes his head. "We'll just waste more time. I've modified the spell." He mutters an incantation and tosses a ball of golden light into the air. It bobs in front of them for a moment before dashing off into the fog, disappearing seconds later.

"It won't tell me the specific area the root is in, but it'll guide us in the right direction. I'm still working on it."

Kuroo can't help but be impressed. "Kind of like those GPS thingies people have now. Except not annoying."

Akaashi quirks an eyebrow.

"I didn't like the voice telling me what to do," Kuroo admits. "Reminded me too much of the demon in my head."

_[excuse me? i'm not nearly as annoying as those things.]_

_You're being annoying right now, shut up._

Kuroo can practically feel the whisper's indignation, but he shrugs it off as best he can before turning back to Akaashi.

"At least let me go first," he says, conjuring a sword to grip tightly in his right hand. "I'll keep an eye out for any monsters."

Akaashi hesitates before nodding. They slip out of their boots, setting them in their knapsacks. Kuroo holds his on his shoulder with one hand, before stepping into the swamp. Instantly, his foot sinks into the muck. It's not too thick to move in, but it's slimy, and he suppresses a shudder. Mud squelches between his toes, as he walks deeper into the fog. He pushes aside the tall grass with his sword, using the red light from the magic to see.

"I don't suppose your magic GPS can tell us how long we'll be in this place," he tosses over his shoulder at Akaashi.

Akaashi gives him a dead-eyed stare that Kuroo takes to mean the negative.

Kuroo turns back around, trying to focus on just moving forward.

Minutes stretch to hours. Kuroo loses track of time, as the fog expands before them. It seems never-ending, stretching on and on into the distance. Each step seems harder to take, as the mud clings to their legs and kimonos. The smell is terrible, heavy and putrid. They haven't come across any creatures, which is a small mercy. Kuroo can only guess at what horrors await them on the other side of this torturous terrain.

How long have they been walking? Shouldn't they have reached the other side by now?

He stops, looking around. There's nothing but fog in every direction, thick and gray, hovering over the swamp like an oppressive blanket. Kuroo reaches up to tug at the neckline of his kimono. His chest feels tight, as he fights panic.

_This is impossible. We're never going to make it out of this._

_[where's that defeatist attitude coming from?]_

_A byproduct of my current reality. Look around us. We're going to die here. I'm never going to see Kenma again. I failed. Again._

"Kuroo-san?"

Kuroo lifts his head, realizing he's been standing still for quite some time. He glances back at Akaashi, who stares back at him, face pale.

"Sorry. Nothing's wrong."

He pushes forward. _He's just a kid. I can't let him die in this place._

The muddy water laps against his thighs with each stride. It's strange. Wasn't the water level at his shins just a few minutes ago? He can't recall any dips in the ground beneath him. Has the muck risen higher?

_[something's not right here.]_

_You think? This swamp is endless. It's probably just as well, though. Kenma's never going to warm up to me. If we ever get back to Karasuno, he's going to want Akaashi for sure._

_[shut up for a second and listen to me. something's going on here. some sort of dark magic. can't you feel it?]_

_We've been surrounded by magic since we first crossed the border._

_[this is different. i think this is some sort of spell. this feeling of sadness weighing on you . . . it's not coming from you. i mean, sure you can be pretty depressing sometimes, but in this particular instance, it's coming from an outside source.]_

Kuroo pauses, halting once more. _What do you mean?_

_[i think this place is manipulating your emotions. look at your legs.]_

Kuroo blinks down at his legs. Despite him standing still, the thick, murky water has risen to his hips. "The water's . . . rising?"

_[i think you're sinking.]_

Kuroo's eyes widen. "Shit. Akaashi!"

He turns around with difficulty, the mud clutching him, trying to keep him in place. Akaashi's still behind him, but despite them standing only a few feet from each other, the water circles Akaashi's waist. He's dropped his knapsack, and it floats on top of the swamp beside him. His arms are by his sides, and as Kuroo watches, he sinks further down.

"Akaashi, Akaashi, look at me." Kuroo struggles forward. It's like he's fighting against a current, though the water remains stagnant around them.

Akaashi lifts his head, staring blankly back at Kuroo. His features are impassive, but Kuroo can see the pain in his dark green eyes and knows he must be feeling the same sadness, though judging by his current status, his is much worse.

_[he also doesn't have a demon inside him to help him snap out of it. you're welcome.]_

_Don't say 'inside him' like that. It's gross._

"Akaashi, listen. Whatever you're thinking, it's not real, okay? What you're feeling right now isn't real."

He manages to close the gap between them, and he swings the knapsack over his shoulder before reaching out to take Akaashi's shoulder, shaking him gently. "Akaashi, hey. It's not real."

"But it is real," Akaashi says softly, frowning. "Bokuto-san . . . he'd be better off without me. I . . . lied to him. By omission, but still. I'm selfish and . . . petty. I'm taking my fear of abandonment out on you. It's easier to hate you than to hate myself. But . . . this curse . . . it's destroyed my life." He pulls his hands out of the mud, sans gloves.

Kuroo grimaces, realizing they must have gotten stuck beneath the water. "It's okay though," he says reassuringly. "We're going to get that root and make the cure. You'll have your life back. A normal one. Just like you want. And Bokuto adores you. You know he does."

"Not even my parents could stand to be around me . . . they were . . . afraid of me." Akaashi looks down at his hands. "They're still afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you," Kuroo insists, ducking his head to try and catch Akaashi's gaze. "Hey, hey look at me. I'm not afraid. I'm going to get you through this, okay? We're going to beat this thing together, but you have to trust me."

The water has risen to Akaashi's chest. Kuroo looks around quickly, searching for a branch or something Akaashi can grab onto so he can pull him out of that spot. But of course there's nothing, only the marsh grass which is too thin and flimsy.

"Kuroo-san," Akaashi's voice is soft.

Kuroo has a feeling he knows what he's going to say, and he starts shaking his head. "Don't."

Akaashi gives him a tiny, sad smile. "Leave me. It's okay. Leave me and go back to Karasuno. Take care of Bokuto and Kenma-kun. They love you. You make them happy."

"You make them happy too. Dammit, Akaashi, stop this. I'm going to get you out of here."

_Can you turn my sword into a shield?_

_[. . . a shield?]_

_Yes! Can you use the magic to form a shield around my hand and arm? Like armor!_

_[i suppose it's possible. but wouldn't leaving him here solve a lot of your problems?]_

_Shut up and do it!_

Kuroo watches, as the sword in his hand shrinks and the crimson light begins to crawl up his arm instead. It prickles his skin, tingling, but soon it covers his entire hand and forearm, encasing it like a gauntlet. He flexes his hand to test it, and the light moves with his fingers. He turns back to Akaashi then, holding this hand out to him.

"Take my hand. I'm going to pull you out of there."

That seems to startle Akaashi out of his daze. He frowns. "No."

"Akaashi! Take my hand!"

Akaashi continues to hesitate, and as he does he sinks deeper into the muck. Panic grabs Kuroo and without thinking he reaches forward and snatches up Akaashi's hand before it can disappear into the swamp. Immediately Akaashi balks, trying to pull his hand away, but Kuroo holds on tight. He can feel the buzz of the curse trying to break down the magical armor. It sizzles, stinging his skin, but he grits his teeth and endures it.

"Let go! It's going to kill you!"

"I'm fine! Look! It's not burning me! Look!" Kuroo shakes the hand he holds, until Akaashi stares at his arm. "But it does sting a little, so come on; work with me here. I'm going to pull you forward, but you have to move too, okay?"

Akaashi nods slowly. Bracing his feet, Kuroo begins to pull on Akaashi's arm. At first nothing happens. Kuroo curses under his breath, shifting his weight and pulling harder. He can feel the mud slipping beneath his feet, but he holds his stance as best he can. Akaashi's face twitches with what might be pain, but slowly he starts to move forward.

The swamp seems to fight back. It clings to Akaashi, black mud stretching out in thick, sticky strands, as Akaashi draws nearer to Kuroo. Kuroo clenches his jaw, the burning sensation against his armor growing stronger.

_[i'm not sure how much longer we can keep this up.]_

_We'll keep it up!_

_[the magic is draining.]_

_Then give me more strength!_

Kuroo feels a surge of power spark brightly through him. With a loud cry, he yanks Akaashi out of the mud. He crashes into him, hitting his chest, and Kuroo stumbles back. Quickly, Akaashi spins away with a splash, before any skin can touch. Kuroo can see him trembling, and he clutches at the blackened ends of his kimono sleeves.

"Did I touch you? Are you hurt?" he asks quickly, face pale.

"I'm fine," Kuroo says, holding up his arm and letting the magic fade back into his skin. "See? It's just a little red; no burns. More importantly, are _you_ okay?"

Akaashi stares at him. "You could've died."

"Yeah, but I didn't." Kuroo reaches to grab Akaashi's knapsack. He pulls it out of the water and tosses it over to the younger man, who catches it, startled. "We're both alive, and we're both getting out of this place, got it?"

Akaashi stares at him, clutching the knapsack to his chest, nodding slowly.

Kuroo starts walking again, his steps determined, and he notices the water begins to thin out as he advances more easily through the swamp. Akaashi follows silently.

"It would've solved a lot of your problems if you'd left me behind," he says quietly after a lull.

Kuroo glances over his shoulder at him, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, that's what the demon said too. It's a good thing I don't listen to him, huh?"

Some color floods back into Akaashi's cheeks, and he looks away. "I'm sorry," he says then.

"You don't have to apologize," Kuroo says, facing forward once more. "Like I said before, your reasons for not liking me are valid. I understand. Just . . . know that I'm not out to get you or anything. I actually care about you, and not just as Kenma's friend."

He takes a few more steps forward, before Akaashi speaks again.

"I've never had a demon confess to me before."

Frowning, he turns back around to fire off a retort, before he realizes that Akaashi's smiling. Actually smiling. Kuroo stares at him a moment, stunned.

"Did you just make a joke?"

Akaashi's eyes widen, and he points over Kuroo's shoulder. "Land!"

Kuroo turns to see that sure enough the fog has begun to clear and dry land stands only a few feet away.

"Fucking finally!"

Trudging up the bank, he collapses on the damp grass, rolling onto his back and spreading his arms out with a groan. His leg muscles ache from hours of pushing through the thick swamp, but already his mind is beginning to clear. The weight that sat so heavily on his chest begins to fade, the feeling of despair abating until he can no longer feel it.

_[i told you it was a spell.]_

_Do you think it was a test?_

_[if it was, you passed. congratulations.]_

Akaashi sits down delicately beside him, picking at the caking mud on his kimono. "The gloves are gone. I don't have another pair."

Kuroo sits up on his elbows. "That's okay. I trust you." He gives him a crooked grin.

Akaashi allows another smile. "I think I'm beginning to trust you as well."

_Victory._

 

 

***

 

 

The room is lit only by candles placed strategically around the bed. Sticks of incense burn in jars on the table, filling the air with a sweet, warm aroma. The incense is mostly for Suga, who often uses it during his meditation. It calms him, clears his mind and adds clarity to his visions. It's also comforting, considering it makes him think of Daichi and the long hours spent together testing his abilities. Despite it no doubt being dull to simply sit beside him quietly, Daichi never complained. In fact, when asked he said he enjoyed it.

Suga smiles now, faintly, remembering it. He turns then to his patient, Kenma, lying face down on the bed in the center of the room. His arms are wrapped around a pillow, which he has tucked under his chin. He's staring at the wall, golden eyes glinting in the flickering orange light of the flames around him. He's naked, his lower half covered by a sheet at the hips for privacy.

Koutarou stands beside Suga, fidgeting.

"This feels weirdly erotic," he states to the room, his voice much too loud in the solemn atmosphere.

Kenma shoots him a glare over his shoulder.

Suga chuckles softly. "Don't think about it like that. This setting isn't for eroticism but for healing. We want Kozume-kun to be comfortable, relaxed."

Koutarou nods quickly. "Right, right. So, um, what do we do first?"

Suga nods to the hearth in the center of the room, where smooth stones of various sizes sit on a tray above dimly glowing embers. "Please select the largest one and give it to me," he says, lifting the cloth he'll use to handle the hot stone.

Koutarou reaches for one, and Suga winces, as he yelps and leaps back, shaking out his hand. "It's hot!"

Kenma stifles a snicker. Suga gestures to the cloth lying beside the hearth. "You're supposed to use that to protect your hands," he reminds him patiently.

"Oh. Right." Koutarou smiles sheepishly, picking up the cloth and using it to gingerly lift the largest stone from the tray. He carefully drops it into Suga's cloth, and Suga holds it delicately for a moment, allowing it to cool some before approaching the bed.

"Now, like I showed you before, you'll place the stones along his spine in descending order, placing the largest one just below his neck between his shoulders and the smallest one between his hips. They're enchanted with a healing spell and will counteract the demon magic, forming a seal around it and keeping it from surfacing when Kozume-kun uses his own magic."

Koutarou nods, eyes fixed on Suga's hands, as he gently places the stone on Kenma's back. He hisses softly at the heat, but after a moment he relaxes once more. Suga smiles, placing his hand on the back of Kenma's head briefly, before turning to Koutarou.

"Now you," he directs. He knows he won't be able to do this every time, and Shouyou knows the procedure from helping him tend internal injuries in the past. But Koutarou's still new to magic, and doing things softly isn't his forte.

"Remember, you need precision and tenderness. You're not just healing him with these stones, but with your hands, your presence, your aura. You can't have any turbulent thoughts or cruel intentions; otherwise it won't work and could wind up hurting him."

Koutarou's eyes widen. "I understand," he says, with surprising solemnity. Brows furrowed in concentration, he chooses the next stone in size and crosses over to the bed. Kenma rests his cheek against the pillow, looking up at Koutarou quietly.

Suga watches, as Koutarou very carefully sets the stone beneath the first along Kenma's spine. Kenma flinches, just slightly, but Koutarou yanks his hands back.

"Sorry!"

Kenma shakes his head slightly. "It's just hot," he murmurs.

Koutarou's shoulders sag in relief. Suga smiles, reaching out to give one an encouraging squeeze.

"You have this," he assures him.

Koutarou nods, swallowing hard. His eyes linger on Kenma's face a moment, before he turns to select the next stone. He repeats the process slowly, taking care to place the stones in perfect order. Kenma closes his eyes, beads of sweat sticking his hair to the side of his face. Koutarou's also sweating, the line of his jaw tense until the very last stone is placed just above the hem of the sheet in the dip of Kenma's lower spine.

He steps back then, breathing easier. He turns then to Suga with an expectant half-smile.

Suga nods back at him. "Well done," he says. "Now we wait until they cool before removing them. I'll have Shouyou draw you a cool bath when you're done."

Koutarou tilts his head, studying Kenma thoughtfully.

"What's on your mind, Bokuto-kun?" he asks after a moment.

"Oh. I was just thinking . . . instead of just suppressing the magic, wouldn't it be better to try and draw it out?"

"What do you mean?" Suga asks, more to hear Koutarou's thoughts than from lack of knowledge.

"Well, you know how you're teaching me how to draw moisture from the air to conjure water? Why don't we do that with Kozume, but instead of drawing moisture out of him, we pull the bad magic out."

Suga purses his lips. "That could be very painful for him, and you'd only be able to draw small amounts out at a time. It could take weeks, maybe even months, to completely drain it."

"But it's possible! Right?" Koutarou asks, his eyes glittering brightly in the candlelight.

Suga sighs. "Yes, it is possible. But I wouldn't recommend it."

Kenma opens his eyes. "If we did what Bokuto says, I wouldn't need to do this ritual anymore. I wouldn't have to live with it. I could be free of it completely." He looks over at Suga for confirmation.

Suga's stomach twists. "Well, yes," he relents. "But Kozume-kun, you don't understand. We're dealing with demon magic. To forcefully pull it from you . . . I'm not sure what it'd do to you."

Kenma glances between him and Koutarou. "I want to try it."

Suga bites his lip. "I really don't think this is a good idea."

"It's my choice, isn't it?" Kenma asks, flatly. "I don't want this demon magic in me. I'll do whatever it takes to get it out."

Suga sighs softly. "All right. We can try. But if this ends badly I don't want to hear about trying it again, understand?"

Kenma nods. As Suga moves to tie up the sleeves of his kimono, he nods to Koutarou.

"Remove the stones."

Koutarou does so swiftly, setting them back onto the tray haphazardly. Exhaling slowly, Suga moves to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Kenma's back. Jagged lines shimmer across it, still healing scars from the night of the Hell Mouth opening. Suga places his palm in the center of Kenma's back and closes his eyes. The skin is warm, receptive. He can feel the inner workings of his body, the rush of his blood, the pattern of his heartbeat, the pulse of his aura, and, hidden deep within that, the stain of black demon magic coiled into a tight ball, twisting violently in its cage created by the stones, trying desperately to escape.

"I'm going to need to break the seal around the magic in order to draw it out," Suga warns Kenma softly, opening his eyes. "It'll rush into your aura like before, fighting to overtake it. I'll grab what I can and try to pull it out."

Kenma curls his fingers around the edge of the pillow, nodding.

Koutarou kneels beside the bed, placing his hand on the mattress in front of Kenma's face. "You can hold my hand if you want," he offers.

Kenma studies him a moment, before slowly peeling the hand closest to him away from the pillow, slipping his palm inside of Koutarou's and wrapping his fingers around it. His hand looks small and delicate in Koutarou's larger, broader one. But Koutarou holds Kenma's hand gently, giving it a small squeeze.

Suga can't help but smile faintly, but then he presses his lips into a line, frowning in concentration, as he moves his hand from the center of Kenma's back to the base of his neck at the top of his spine. Here, he rubs two fingers in a slow circle, murmuring an incantation. He can feel the seal on the magic weakening, and the dark energy surges, breaking out of its hold.

Kenma cries out sharply, his body tensing, as he grips Koutarou's hand tightly. Suga continues to mutter the spell, drawing the magic to him. It fights against him, straining to remain in place, but Suga grits his teeth in determination, and slowly begins to lift his hand.

Dark red light spirals from Kenma's skin, drawn out by Suga's fingers. Kenma trembles, biting down on the pillow to muffle his whimpers of pain.

"It's okay, Kozume. It's okay. I'm here. I've got you," Koutarou says desperately, his eyes wide with concern. His thumb strokes along Kenma's knuckles, which are starting to turn white.

Suga's frown deepens. The majority of the magic writhes deep inside Kenma's aura, and the bit of light he holds begins to pull thin with resistance, shivering. Suga knows it'll snap soon, but he's not sure how much will disintegrate and how much will return inside of Kenma. He starts speaking faster, lifting his hand higher, centimeter by centimeter. The crimson light stretches thinner, growing taut. Suga resists the urge to yank on it, knowing that could hurt Kenma more.

This type of energy is meant to consume, to destroy. And Kenma's body's own natural instincts to resist against magic stealing makes things more difficult. Suga knows this would be easier if Kenma could relax, but the pain is causing his body to stiffen, to fight back against Suga despite his good intentions.

Finally though, something gives, and the band of light snaps. Suga's hand flies back, releasing the energy into the air, where it dissipates. Kenma stifles a soft sob, burying his face deeper into the pillow. Suga feels sick, and he moves to stand.

"I don't think we should do that again," he says breathlessly.

Koutarou switches hands with Kenma, moving to wrap his other arm around his back. He presses his forehead against the back of Kenma's head, hovering over him like a shield. Suga unties the sleeves of his kimono, his skin feeling cold.

"It's over now, Kozume. It's okay," Koutarou says softly. "I've got you. The pain will go away soon." He lifts his head, looking over at Suga. "It will, won't it?" he asks, his face ashen.

Suga nods wearily. "Yes. But we'll need to replace the seal. Bokuto-kun." He gestures to the stones on the tray. "You know what to do."

He turns toward the door, as Koutarou stands. "Where are you going?" he asks. "What if he needs more than just the stones?"

"I'll be nearby," Suga assures him, glancing over his shoulder. "Just call for me."

He leaves the room quickly then, his heart pounding in his chest. It's not until he's halfway down the hall that he realizes his hand is shaking. He grabs it with his other hand, pulling both to his chest and holding them there, as he pauses and leans against the wood of one wall. He closes his eyes, feeling the corners prickle, as he struggles to keep the tears at bay.

"Koushi? Koushi!"

Suga feels warm hands on his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to look into Daichi's face, the lines of his features drawn with worry.

"Are you okay? I felt your distress." Daichi's hands run down Suga's arms, until he comes to his elbows and holds them gently.

Suga inhales shakily. "I attempted to draw the demon magic out of Kenma's aura," he explains softly. "I wasn't very successful. I only managed to remove a tiny fraction, and he . . . he was in so much pain."

Daichi sighs, wrapping his arms around Suga and pulling him close. Suga bites his lip, sniffling softly as he rests his head against Daichi's broad shoulder.

"You did the best you could," Daichi says, rubbing Suga's back in comforting circles. "That's all anyone can ask of you."

"I always end up hurting people, even though I try to help them. Why? Why does that keep happening? I look into the future to see how I can help, but things happen anyway and I can't . . . I can't stop it." Suga shakes his head, shuddering. "I don't know if I'm fit to be king, Daichi."

"Okay, now you're just talking nonsense," Daichi says, pushing him away to look into his eyes. "Suga, you're doing a great job as king. You take care of your people, you give them hope when you can, you've sustained them for fifty years without trade from Shiratorizawa."

Suga sighs. "We're sustaining, but we're not thriving. Daichi, if we manage to push back Shiratorizawa, the people are eventually going to expect an heir."

Daichi's lips harden into a firm line. "Then make one."

Suga's eyes widen. "I couldn't do that to you. And Kiyoko . . ."

"Have you even spoken to her about it?"

"Not . . . since our wedding night when I requested her permission to not consummate."

"She knows the importance of an heir as well as you do."

Suga glances down. "I was hoping . . . Koutarou . . ."

"I know, but he's not of our world. He may be your cousin, but this isn't his home." Daichi reaches up to brush his knuckles lightly against Suga's cheek. "Don't worry about me. Focus on your kingdom and what's best for it."

Suga leans into Daichi's touch.

"Sugawara-sama!"

Daichi draws back quickly, standing at a respectable distance, as Shouyou comes barreling down the hall.

"What is it, Shouyou?" Suga asks, straightening and turning to face the young guardian-in-training with a small smile.

"Kageyama-kun!"

"Ah. Yes, it has been a few days." Suga frowns slightly. "They should have been back by now."

Shouyou nods vigorously. "We need to portal over there and see what's wrong!"

Suga shakes his head. "We can't show up unannounced or without invitation. It could be seen as a threat."

"But we can't just _leave_ him there!"

"We won't," Suga says, gently placing his hand on top of Shouyou's head. "I'll send a message to Semi Eita and request an update on the proceedings. In the meantime, continue your training and tend to our guests. Speaking of which, Kenma needs a bath drawn."

Shouyou brightens at that. "Roger, Suga-sama!" He bows deeply, before scampering off toward the bathroom of Kenma's room.

Suga watches him go, worrying his teeth against his lower lip.

Daichi steps up beside him. "Has the future changed?" he asks softly.

Suga closes his eyes, bringing forth the vision he's seen so many times he could describe it in his sleep.

_The room is dark, the door to the balcony pulled open to allow a cool breeze to filter through. The flame by the bed flickers back and forth, casting long shadows until it's finally snuffed out. Suga's asleep beneath the covers, chest bare, the flush of alcohol on his cheeks. There's no one beside him, and the comforter isn't pulled back to suggest a late night toilet run._

_Suga is alone, snoring softly. In the distance, there's the sound of chatter, of laughter, of music. A celebration of some kind, perhaps. Or simply a gathering. None of these sounds wake Suga, but something else causes him to stir, to sit up and wipe the sleep from his eyes._

_A figure stands at the entrance to the room, a black silhouette hovering between the wall and the partition._

_"Daichi?_ _" Suga peers at the figure, trying to make out its features._

_"No," comes the soft reply._

_Suga's face pales. "So. You've chosen your side, then."_

_"Yes."_

_"For him?"_

_"For everyone. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one."_

_Suga hums softly. "How poetic."_

_The figure shrugs, as it advances. "It's from a TV show." Its hand moves toward the front folds of its kimono, withdrawing a small knife within a scabbard. Its blade, when revealed, glints in the moonlight, wicked sharp. "I don't want to do this."_

_Suga watches him sadly. "You don't have to, you know. There's another way."_

_The figure pauses for only a moment. "Not that I can see. I have to protect him. Protect all of them. I'm sorry. I'll make it quick."_

_Suga closes his eyes with resignation, and the figure advances._

Suga opens his eyes with a gasp, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He staggers, and Daichi catches his arm, steadying him. His brow is creased with worry, as he studies Suga's face.

"Will you tell me what you saw?" he asks quietly.

Suga shakes his head quickly. He can't. Daichi must never know.

"Can you at least tell me if it's changed?" Daichi asks then with a sigh.

"It hasn't," Suga says, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, swallowing hard. "He hasn't made any choices yet that will affect it."

Daichi's frown deepens. "You're putting a lot of faith in someone we know very little about."

"I know," Suga says, biting his lip. "But I have no other option."

 

 

***

 

 

Oikawa is bored. The "day after tomorrow" turned into "the end of the week" and that's much too long to wait for an audience with King Ushiwaka. He'd spend the time training with Hajime, but for some reason he said he'd prefer to train by himself. Except, apparently, when that kid Kageyama wants him to show him some moves. But Oikawa doesn't care. Hajime can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants. It's fine. Even though it's caused Kageyama to start looking at Hajime like he hangs the moon or something, which is irritating. But Hajime always comes back to Oikawa at the end of the day, so he's trying not to let it bother him too much.

Instead, he explores the palace. It's large, much larger than the one at Karasuno, and the décor is impeccable. He wonders if Semi Eita designed the interior or if he simply hired the faerie that did. He reminds himself to ask later.

There is an extensive library, so after Oikawa trains ( _by himself_ , but it's fine), he bathes before browsing the various titles. He finds that most of the texts are enchanted, which creates a reading experience he's never had before. The descriptions tap into his senses, until he can actually feel the breeze on his face, can smell the flowers, or hear the waves crashing against the sand, despite knowing he's seated in a chair or leaning against a shelf. It's mesmerizing.

One of the sections holds erotica, and Oikawa sometimes takes these into the toilets with him. Hajime's lack of intimacy toward him has left him starved for affection, for stimulation, and he's a nineteen-year-old hot-blooded young man. Naturally he would gravitate toward such novels. It's not the same as having Hajime there, touching him, breathing onto his skin, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, but it's better than nothing at all.

He doesn't tell Hajime about these books, and he does his best to keep them away from Hajime as well. It may be selfish, but he doesn't want Hajime experiencing these feelings without him. That's what he gets for rejecting him. (A petty thought, but one he has nonetheless.)

Finally, at the end of the week, the weird Tendou faerie shows up to escort them to the dining hall.

A long table inside the hall stretches out before them, covered in various delicacies. There's fruit so large and bright they seem fake. Salads and veggie plates are scattered about as well, but the largest platters hold meat of various kinds. Oikawa recognizes duck and turkey, venison, pork, and a couple others he _doesn't_ recognize. Oikawa's mouth is watering before he's even taken a seat on a plush red cushion near the head of the table, but he refrains from touching anything. Hajime shows similar restraint, sitting stiffly beside him on his left.

Kageyama sits across from them and seems to have no such qualms. As soon as Tendou tells them to go ahead and begin eating if they're hungry, Kageyama grabs the nearest platter and starts piling his plate.

"Don't you know anything?" Oikawa scoffs. "For all we know these could be enchanted and once we eat we'll be stuck here forever."

"The food is not enchanted."

All three turn toward the deep voice to see a tall, imposing figure step through the doorway. His silk kimono is embroidered magnificently, trees and birds of different species set against the pure white cloth. His obi is tied expertly, not a single fold out of place. Tendou grins and hops over to bow low before him.

"Wakatoshi-sama, welcome!"

Ushijima's face twitches slightly. "I do not like it when you use my given name in public," he says, his voice as monotone as before.

"Ah, forgive me," Tendou says, straightening. "I'm so delighted to see my magnificent and wonderful king that I forgot my place." He grins brightly.

Ushijima doesn't reply to this, simply moves to sit at the head of the table to Oikawa's right. He nods to both Oikawa and Hajime, before turning to Kageyama and gesturing to his plate.

"The food is good. Please enjoy."

That's all the encouragement Kageyama needs to start stuffing his face. Oikawa wrinkles his nose at the display; he's sure the boy is going to choke at some point.

Tendou kneels directly behind and to the right of Ushijima, his grin settling to a smirk that Oikawa doesn't trust at all.

"You only have one bodyguard?" he asks lightly. "Seems negligent of a king with such a large kingdom."

"I have many bodyguards," Ushijima states, unfazed by the criticism. "They stand outside these doors as we speak. Tendou is my most trusted guard, however, so he remains at my side throughout all my proceedings."

"Where's the other one?" Hajime asks, reaching for an apple.

Oikawa shoots him a look, and Hajime stares back at him with an expression that says, _What? He said the food wasn't enchanted._

"Semi Eita will be here shortly. He is retrieving your gifts."

Oikawa's ears perk up at that. "Gifts?"

As if on cue, the faerie they met in the hallway their first day there steps into the room, looking aggravated. Beneath his arm is a large package, and he holds several scrolls like before. He bows rapidly to his king, before sitting behind him to his left and dropping the items in front of him.

"Semi," Ushijima greets him. "Tendou requested that I ask you if you've located his cat yet."

Semi shoots Tendou a glare. "No, Your Excellence, I have not. I haven't really had the time go looking for it. Perhaps you can put Shirabu on the task. I doubt he has much better to do."

Ushijima looks thoughtful. "He tends to Goshiki."

"I understand that, but considering Goshiki does nothing but train all day, I'm sure he has some free time."

"Is that where Goshiki is now? I wanted him to be here."

Semi nods. "I told him of your request, but he insists on continuing his training. He aspires to be as powerful as you when he ascends to the throne."

"I suppose I cannot fault him for that. Please deliver the gifts to our guests."

Oikawa was lost during this entire conversation, but again he straightens when he hears the word 'gifts.' He leans forward eagerly, attempting to see what else Semi brought with him. Standing, Semi walks around the table to hand Hajime the large package, bowing deeply.

"For the knight," he says.

Eyebrows raised, Hajime tears apart the wrapping to reveal a broadsword. The scabbard and hilt are encrusted with gems, rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds to name a few, but the grip is wrapped in leather and looks sturdy. Hajime's eyes grow wide, as he slowly pulls the sword free just enough to catch a glimpse of the blade. The metal is unmarked, pure, with a blade that looks like it could cut you if you simply stared at it for too long. Hajime quickly sheathes it and looks over at Ushijima with a stunned expression.

"I can't accept this."

"You are refusing my gift?" Ushijima frowns faintly.

"That would not be wise," Tendou pipes up from behind him.

"It's not that I'm not grateful, I just . . . it's too much." Hajime shakes his head.

"If it makes you feel any better, this is hardly the most expensive item in this palace," Semi says, before turning to Oikawa. From the sleeve of his kimono he withdraws a box. He hands it over with a tiny half-smile.

"For the Crown Prince of Hell."

Oikawa frowns slightly at this title, but he takes the box. Inside is a ring, a simple band of iron with a design he doesn't recognized etched into its surface. It's not nearly as ostentatious as Hajime's gift, and Oikawa can't help but be disappointed.

"A ring?"

"It is not an ordinary ring," Ushijima says. "Try it on and you will see."

Skeptical, Oikawa sets the box down and lifts the ring from it. He slides it onto the third finger of his right hand. Immediately a tingle moves up his arm, sending a shiver down his spine. He grimaces, as he feels a sharp sting at the base of his skull

"What just happened? What did it do to me?" he asks, rubbing at the spot with a frown.

Beside him, Hajime's hand wraps around the hilt of the sword once more.

"Try to use your magic," Semi prompts.

Bewildered, Oikawa holds up his hand and calls upon his magic to create a flame. Nothing happens. Frowning, he reaches deeper into his aura. He can sense the magic there, but when he tries to grasp it, it slips away from him like smoke through his fingers.

"I can't," he says, shocked.

"The ring is enchanted," Ushijima explains. "It suppresses your demon DNA, taking away your magic and everything that marks you as a demon. While you wear it, you will find you no longer need to use a glamour. It is highly advanced magic designed by myself." He inclines his head, gesturing then to Tendou. "Pour me some wine. I am thirsty."

"As you wish, your most highness," Tendou says promptly, moving forward to grab a jug from the table and a glass.

"I'm . . . human?" Oikawa asks, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

"No, you are still half-demon. However, the enchantment is very powerful." Ushijima tilts his head, taking the glass from Tendou once it's handed to him. "But I suppose . . . yes, you could say you are human in every aspect aside from your DNA."

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa turns to Hajime with wide eyes. "Do you know what this means?" _We can go home. I can live a normal life. I can see my mom and Makki and Mattsun. You can love me again . . ._

Hajime turns his gaze away, focusing on Ushijima. "How did you know that's what he wanted?" he asks, frowning faintly. "You had these prepared, but you've only just met us."

"Sugawara Koushi has the ability to look at someone and see their entire future laid out before him," Ushijima says, methodically pulling grapes from a vine in a bowl onto his plate, one by one. "I have the opposite gift. I look at someone and see their past, their history. I find this very useful."

Semi steps around the table to hand Kageyama his gift. A knife, simple, with a sharp blade.

"You are proficient at knife-throwing," Ushijima states.

Kageyama frowns. "I'm the best in Karasuno," he states, quickly slipping the knife into the folds of his yukata.

This statement is ignored, Ushijima returning to look at Oikawa, who continues to glance at his hand and the ring there, awed.

"You had something you wished to tell me? A message from Sugawara-sama?"

Oikawa blinks up at him. "What?"

Hajime sighs, nudging him in the side. "He requests that you call off . . . whatever it is you're planning. The human realm isn't exactly the best place for supernatural creatures. We have Demon Hunting Syndicates and while we work in close contact with witches, we're not exactly . . . friends with them." Here he glances sidelong at Oikawa, who ignores him. "And a lot of people still fear them. Sugawara-sama thinks you'd be better off remaining here. He doesn't want your kind to be enslaved or used for selfish gain."

Ushijima pulls his hand from the grapes, folding his hands together on the tabletop then, leaning over them slightly. "What if I could offer you a realm in which there is no war, no famine, and no disease? A perfect paradise."

Oikawa inhales sharply, and Hajime straightens, eyes wide. "You can do that?"

"There is a way," Ushijima says, nodding. "I have seen humans repeat the mistakes of their past too often to stand idly by any longer. But in order to fix things I need access to the portal."

"If that's true," Oikawa says skeptically, "then why is Sugawara opposing you? He seems like a good man. Wouldn't he want to help you?"

"I do not know why he persists to stand in my way," Ushijima admits, leaning back and selecting a grape from his pile to eat. "He is being unreasonable. My people do not deserve to live in hiding. What I offer the world is a bargain they should not refuse and in exchange, all I ask is for our freedom. I do not wish to take faerie lives, or any lives, but I will do what I must for the good of all."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one," Oikawa murmurs.

Ushijima nods. "Exactly. Well said."

"Well, I am quite clever," Oikawa says with his best smile.

Hajime rolls his eyes.

"Sugawara-sama _is_ a good man," Kageyama interjects, frowning. "He says you have ill-intentions. That you will destroy the world if we let you have the portal."

"Then he leaves me no choice," Ushijima says, moving to stand. "Please consider what I have said. If it pleases you, you may stay and help me achieve this goal. Or you can return to Karasuno and suffer their fate. It is your choice." Bowing slightly, he turns to leave the room. Semi scrambles to pick up his scrolls and follow him.

Tendou picks up the plate of grapes and the wine goblet, giving the three at the table a wink. "Pretty impressive, huh? I'd join his team if I were you. Some great things are going to happen. Really great. You won't want to miss it."

They're alone in the dining hall once more. Oikawa's stomach growls, but his mind is moving too quickly to think about eating. He looks down at his hand, trying once more to conjure a flame. Nothing.

"Iwa-chan, do you know what this means?" he asks in an excited whisper, turning to look at his friend beside him.

Hajime's frowning deeply at the sword lying across his lap. "We failed."

" _Iwa-chan_ ," Oikawa says insistently. "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about this!" He wiggles his hand beneath Hajime's nose until he looks up. "I'm _human_ , Iwa-chan. I'm human."

Hajime blinks at him, before his expression darkens. " _That's_ what you're thinking about right now? When we have no idea what Ushijima's exact plans are on achieving this 'paradise,' only that he's planning on taking the portal by force if we don't try to stop him?"

Oikawa shrinks back, biting his lip. "Obviously we should find out what he's really planning," he says stiffly. "I just thought maybe we could enjoy ourselves while we're still stuck here."

"You can enjoy yourself if you want," Hajime says, standing and grabbing another apple from the bowl, tucking it into his yukata. "I'm pretty sure you already have been."

Oikawa wrinkles his nose. "That's not fair. I'm a hot-blooded young man! I have needs!"

Hajime rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, you can take care of your _needs_ alone. I'm going to try and stop a war. Since, you know, that's why we're _here_."

Oikawa flushes, trying not to get angry. He knows Hajime has a right to be annoyed with him. He'd only thought . . . "You said you didn’t want to be in love with a demon," he reminds Hajime softly, looking down at the ring.

Hajime sighs, running his hand over his face. "I'm not having this conversation here in front of him." He gestures to Kageyama, whom Oikawa had completely forgotten about.

"Fine." Oikawa stands gracefully. No longer hungry, he turns toward the door, pausing by Hajime's elbow. He lowers his voice, leaning close to his ear. "Don't nick yourself on your pretty new sword."

It's a petty blow, but Oikawa feels some vindication when Hajime glances guiltily at the sword still in his hand.

"Fuck you, Oikawa," Hajime grumbles.

"Iwa-chan, please. Don't be so crass. There's a child present." With a glance at Kageyama, who predictably frowns, he dances away from Hajime's swatting hand and exits the dining hall.

 

 

 

Later that night, as he lies beside Hajime, he stares up at the ceiling and thinks of Ushijima's words. Peace on Earth _sounds_ nice, but it's highly improbable. Yet the faerie king seemed so confident that he could achieve it. How?

The realization hits him so hard he sits up with a gasp.

"Mind control!"

Hajime grumbles, sitting up slowly and blinking at him through a scowl. "What?"

"Mind control, Iwa-chan! That's the way Ushiwaka is going to execute his paradise plan. That's the only thing that makes sense. He'll enslave the minds of everyone and become supreme ruler and there's no violence because there's no free will. Everyone will do what he says."

"Are you listening to yourself right now?" Hajime asks, still frowning. "You sound crazy. There's no way that could work on that large a scale."

"It can if he has enough faeries working for him, spread out across the different countries, using their abilities to control the leaders."

Hajime falls silent. Oikawa stares at him in the darkness, trying not to get distracted by the dip of his lower lip, or the way his hair is smooshed against the side of his head on one side.

"We can't know for sure that's what he's planning," he says finally. "And I doubt he'd admit to something like that if we asked him."

"So we'll have to be spies," Oikawa determines.

Hajime groans dropping back onto the futon and covering his face with his hands. "You're going to get me killed. _Again._ "

Oikawa purses his lips. "Absolutely not. If you don’t want to do this, you and Kageyama can go back to Karasuno. I'll stay here and spy by myself."

Hajime drops his hands. "Yeah, that's not happening." He sits up again, shaking his head. "We're partners, remember? If we do this, we do it together."

Oikawa wants nothing more than to throw his arms around Hajime in that moment and kiss him soundly with everything he has. But knowing that probably wouldn't be well received he simply nods and nudges his shoulder against Hajime's gently.

"Together, then."

"Now go the fuck to sleep. It's like three in the morning," Hajime says, shoving Oikawa over.

Oikawa squawks softly in protest, but then Hajime flops down beside him and wraps his arm around his chest, his lips and nose brushing against Oikawa's shoulder. Oikawa freezes, breathing shallowly. Did Hajime mean to do that? Why is he doing this? Has he forgiven him yet? Is this a best friend snuggle or a couple snuggle?

"Your heart is pounding way too fast," Hajime mumbles against his shoulder. "Relax, Tooru. It's just sleeping."

Oikawa swallows hard. "Right. Goodnight, Iwa-chan."

"Goodnight, Shittykawa."

Oikawa can't help but smile at the nickname.

"So mean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	22. all we have is one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long. anxiety + depression + stress + a move across half the US = severe writer's block
> 
> i'm slowly coming back to myself though. :) so here's the next chapter! enjoy!
> 
> ((there is smut at the end of this chapter! to skip it, stop at "He doesn't get to finish that sentence." and resume at "He lifts his head to rest it"))

 

 

 

 

we are led to those  
who help us most to grow  
if we let them  
and we help them in return

— kristin chenoweth, "for good"  
by stephen schwartz, _wicked: the untold story of the witches of oz_

* * *

 

 

 

_He's standing on the crest of a hill, looking down at a village in flames. He can hear the screams of the dying, the shouts of those rushing to try and stop the fire from spreading. Their attempts are useless. The fire consumes everything in its path, and he knows the village will be gone come sunrise._

_He remembers feeling a rush of pleasure at the sight, back when this occurred. He remembers feeling sick at the pleased smirk the demon placed on his lips. But he was helpless to stop it. Trapped in his own body, unable to escape. He'd long since given up trying to reason with the demon. After days of yelling and figuratively banging on the doorway to his mind, he realized there was nothing he could do. The demon had taken over his body completely._

Why did you do this? They were innocent.

_No one is innocent. Humans are greedy and lust for power. They selfishly search for things that will give them pleasure, disregarding the feelings and wellbeing of others. Even though they need those others to get what they want. It's very amusing!_

That's not true. Some humans may be like that, but not all of them are. There are good people in this world, and you just destroyed a village full of them.

_No, **you** just destroyed a village full of them._

_The demon cackles, and Kuroo feels a sickening weight in his stomach. He sees through his own eyes the devastation his hands have wrought. He wants to turn away, but the demon continues to look down upon the destruction and chaos it caused, grinning still._

_Then he feels a new presence at his side. The scene before him wobbles slightly, as nobody else was there when this happened 600 years ago. Is this a memory or a dream? He glances to the side, eyes widening, as he sees a familiar head of black and golden hair beneath his chin._

_"Kenma?"_

_Kenma tilts his head back, looking up at Kuroo with a faint frown. "This is what you dream about?"_

The world spins around them, shifting, changing, and Kuroo stares, knowing it's not because of him. Suddenly, they're back in the courtyard of the palace in Karasuno, sitting on the fountain where Kuroo took the lotus flower to place in Kenma's hair. Everything looks the same, from the flowers in the water, to the soft, green grass beneath their feet. Kuroo turns to look at Kenma in amazement.

"Did you do that?"

Kenma nods. "It's called Dream Walking. Suga-sama showed me how. It's easier when you've bonded with the person you want to reach, but . . ." he trails off, glancing around the courtyard.

Kuroo blinks. "So I'm not just dreaming of you? You're really here?" He reaches out to touch the side of Kenma's face, but although he can see his fingers connecting with his skin, he feels nothing. _That's disappointing . . ._

"As real as I can be in a dream world using my aura as a catalyst," Kenma states, glancing back at Kuroo. "I don't have a lot of time. It takes a lot of effort."

Kuroo grins faintly at the implication. "But you wanted to come see me anyway?"

Kenma purses his lips. "I'm just testing it."

"But you could've tested it on anyone. You chose me."

"We're close. It's not that big of a deal," Kenma says, looking away again.

"Not as close as you and Akaashi," Kuroo points out, earning him a quick frown. He doesn't mind it though. Warmth fills his chest, replacing the squirming unease he felt earlier. Moving his hand again, he touches the top of Kenma's head, running his fingers down through his hair until he gets to the ends, which he tugs on gently. It feels good to touch him again, even if he can't really feel him. Kuroo wants to do more, but he restrains himself, not wanting to scare Kenma away.

_Does he remember the kiss? Does he think about it as often as I do?_

"Akaashi has powerful mental blocks," Kenma says, his eyes on the ground, hands in his lap, picking at the skin of his fingers near his nails.

"You miss me."

Kuroo's positive he sees a faint blush darken Kenma's cheeks, though it's hard to tell as his face is partially hidden by his hair. Carefully, Kuroo tucks some of the hanging strands behind Kenma's ear, revealing the side of his face. Kenma's gaze is still lowered, and he bites his lip.

"Yes," he admits after a moment.

Kuroo's chest aches. He shifts closer, lowering his head toward Kenma's, while his other hand moves to take Kenma's, stilling their fidgeting. "I miss you too," he murmurs, resting his forehead against the side of Kenma's. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He can't smell anything, a painful reminder that this isn't truly real, but he pretends that he can. It helps, somewhat.

Kenma turns his hand over, taking Kuroo's and giving it a firm squeeze. "I have to go."

Kuroo's chest tightens. There's still so much he has to say. To apologize for. He pulls back, looking down at Kenma. "What you saw . . . it wasn't a dream. It was a memory."

Kenma looks back at him impassively. There's no disgust or anger in his gaze. It's as straight-forward and calm as always.

Kuroo swallows hard. "I-I did that. I burned down that village. I killed hundreds of people."

Kenma sighs, shaking his head. "No, you didn't. That was the demon."

"The demon I summoned, the demon I allowed to possess me. It was my hands that did those things. The people I killed . . . the last thing many of them saw was my face. How—"

Kenma takes his face in his hands, cutting him off abruptly with a firm kiss. Kuroo freezes, words dying in his throat. He can't exactly feel the warmth of Kenma's lips, but he can imagine it. It spreads through him, and he shivers in its wake. Lifting his hand hesitantly, he sets it against the small of Kenma's back, returning the kiss slowly. Kenma shifts closer on the fountain, pressing against him. Kuroo can't help but moan, yearning for this to be real, aching to hold Kenma outside of a dream world.

Kenma pulls away first, and Kuroo murmurs softly in protest. Kenma stands, one hand lingering against Kuroo's cheek.

"You saved Kenta's life by allowing the demon to possess you," he says softly. "Once that happened, you had no control over what it did. Nothing it did was your fault."

Kuroo can feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes. "I should've remembered the spell to exorcise it. My mistake caused so much destruction . . ."

"It's over now. It was six hundred years ago," Kenma says, shaking his head. "What matters is what you're doing now. And you're doing good, Tetsurou. You _are_ good."

Kuroo blinks, staring up at Kenma, as his heart flips strangely in his chest. "You called me Tetsurou."

Kenma's eyes flit to the side. "I have to go."

Kuroo swallows hard. "When can I see you again?"

But Kenma's already fading away, along with the courtyard and Kuroo soon finds himself surrounded by darkness.

 

 

 

 

Kuroo isn't sure what he dreams of next, but when he wakes to the sun shining through the trees, warm on his face, he finds himself in a rather compromising situation.

Akaashi's already awake and fixing breakfast over the remnants of their fire, and when Kuroo sits up, shifting his blanket to try and hide his embarrassing state, he quirks an eyebrow.

"Kenma? or Bokuto-san?" he asks, pursing his lips.

Kuroo desperately tries to think of turn offs, as he gives Akaashi his most obnoxious grin and wink. "Maybe I was thinking of you, beautiful."

Akaashi recoils, his cheeks growing red. It's not exactly the reaction Kuroo expected, and he laughs. Akaashi scowls.

"I don't have to give you any of this, you know," he says, gesturing to the eggs sizzling on the pan sitting above the embers. There's another pot cooling beside it, filled nearly to the brim with cooked rice.

Kuroo crosses his legs in front of him, the smell of food distracting him. "You couldn't possibly eat all that yourself."

Akaashi looks at him, as his expression falls back into the familiar mask of intimidating impassivity. "Try me."

"You're mean when you're flustered," Kuroo says, pulling a bowl out of his knapsack and ladling rice into it.

Akaashi purses his lips but says nothing. When Kuroo holds out his bowl, he selects one of the eggs to place on top of the rice, though Kuroo notes he gave him the smaller of the two. Still, he doesn't complain, as he sits back with a pair of chopsticks he also grabbed from his knapsack, enjoying the hot meal.

"Thanks for the food," he says genuinely, his mouth full.

Akaashi nods, eating primly, posture straight as a board.

Although things have been somewhat easier between them since the swamp incident a couple days ago, Kuroo gets the feeling they haven't quite crossed the line into friendship yet. Akaashi's still keeping himself contained, hidden away from Kuroo's curiosity. He's almost afraid to breach that wall.

Almost.

"Your parents," he says, and Akaashi freezes, lifting his dark green eyes to pierce through Kuroo, warning him away. Kuroo ignores this and soldiers on. "You mentioned them back in the swamp. Did they leave because of your curse?"

"I thought it prudent that they leave once my mother got pregnant with my younger sister," Akaashi says stiffly. "I urged them to do it."

"Have you seen them since?"

"If you don't mind, Kuroo-san, I prefer to eat in silence."

"Have you even met your sister?"

Pain flickers briefly across Akaashi's face, and Kuroo feels a stab of guilt. He bites his lip, glancing down at his half-eaten bowl. "Sorry. I'm just . . . trying to figure you out."

"We're not going to be friends, Kuroo-san." He says it so plainly, without any inflection. Kuroo isn't sure if he honestly still thinks that or is simply stubborn.

"My parents are dead," Kuroo says.

Akaashi blinks at him. "I'd assume so, given the year," he deadpans.

Kuroo laughs without humor. "Funny. That's not what I meant. They died when I was a kid. Bandits came through the village, stripped it of anything valuable they could carry. Those that fought back were killed. My parents fought back."

Akaashi's chopsticks clink softly against his bowl. "I'm sorry."

"After all this is over, you should go see them."

Akaashi frowns faintly in confusion. "Is that a threat?"

Kuroo stares back at him, just as confused, before he realizes what he said. He rolls his eyes. "Fucking hell, _no_. I meant you should go see _your_ parents."

Akaashi flushes for the second time that morning, looking down into his bowl. "Oh."

"Sheesh. And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Akaashi opens his mouth to retort, but Kuroo continues.

"Look, I know it's none of my business, but I know a thing or two about loneliness. And you're probably the loneliest person I've ever met. But you don't have to be, you know? You still have family out there. Family that loves you."

Akaashi shakes his head. "They're afraid of me," he says.

"Then show them they don't have to be," Kuroo replies, as gently as he can.

Akaashi looks down into his bowl for a moment, before lifting his eyes to meet Kuroo's gaze. "Thank you," he says, and his words and expression seem sincere.

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck. "Heh. No problem." Turning back to his breakfast, he finishes it quickly, trying to ignore how the food seems to flop around in his stomach uneasily.

_[i can see why kenma likes him.]_

Kuroo visibly starts. _Holy shit, don't sneak up on me like that._

_[sneak up? i've been here the whole time.]_

Akaashi's giving him a strange look, so Kuroo focuses on eating.

_Why didn't you say anything earlier then? Don't you usually find something to snark about first thing in the morning?_

_[you seemed rather busy with your untimely erection. i didn't want to interrupt.]_

_I hate you._

Kuroo can't help but think back to his dream, however. The one Kenma visited. Looking across the fire at Akaashi, he can't help but wonder if he should mention the dream walking experience. If Akaashi knows about it, chances are he'll lower his mental blocks to allow Kenma inside. They could touch and even kiss in a dream world . . .

Selfishly, Kuroo decides to keep the information to himself. What Akaashi doesn't know won't hurt him.

_[ah. so that's why you disappeared last night.]_

_Disappeared?_

_[yes. i'm always in your mind. i'm fused with your soul. what you dream, i dream. but last night you disappeared. it was as though the part of your soul that's you was shielded from me.]_

_Kenma must have done that. Maybe he wanted us to talk privately. Maybe he just wanted to know if he could._

_[resourceful little human.]_

Akaashi finishes his breakfast and moves to stand, setting about clearing away the pot and pan, breaking down their campsite. Kuroo remains seated, lost in his conversation with the whisper.

_I told him about the village. About how you used me to kill people. I thought it might scare him away, but it didn't._

_[this confuses you?]_

_I don't know. I'm not sure what it means. But I hope—_

"Kuroo-san. We must keep moving." Akaashi nudges his knee with the toe of his boot.

Kuroo blinks, jolting out of his mind. He stares at Akaashi's kimono for a moment before tilting his head back to look at his face. He's blocking the sunlight, so Kuroo can't see his expression. A quick glance around tells him that Akaashi's already put away everything from the night, even Kuroo's blanket.

"Sorry," Kuroo says, shaking his head to clear it and setting his bowl and chopsticks back into his knapsack. He stands, throwing it over his shoulder, and gives Akaashi a bright smile. "Lead the way!"

 

 

 

 

 

The trees give way to a large pasture of rolling hills. Akaashi's magic GPS light continues straight ahead, so they climb the crest of the hill in front of them. Reaching the top, Kuroo stops, whistling softly under his breath.

"What is it?" Akaashi asks, coming to a stop beside him.

"I think that's Shiratorizawa," Kuroo says, pointing ahead.

In the distance, still several miles ahead, loom giant stone walls. From their vantage point, Kuroo can see a turret placed at a corner, maroon banners placed on either side. He can't make out the sigil on the banners, and the wall stretches so far into the distance he can't see a second turret. There isn't a gate, so they must south of the entrance (judging by the position of the sun).

"Is the magic GPS leading us into Shiratorizawa? I thought the root was in the forest." Kuroo turns to look at Akaashi, who's staring at the walls with a faint frown.

"Perhaps they cultivated the root and now grow it in their own gardens inside the kingdom."

"That means we're going to have to break into Shiratorizawa, the most powerful faerie kingdom here," Kuroo says pointedly. He gives Akaashi a crooked smile. "You up for that?"

"What's the worst they can do? Kill me?" Akaashi asks, expressionless.

"That's the spirit."

Kuroo's nerves tingle uneasily, as he watches Akaashi descend the hill with confident steps. Still, he follows knowing that they can hardly turn back now.

When they reach the bottom of the hill, Kuroo nearly runs into Akaashi as the latter stops abruptly. Looming before them is a tall wall. It appears to be made of stone and it looks as though it's been there for a long time, with cracks in the rock and ivy growing across it. The wall extends to either side as far as Kuroo can see, and he frowns.

"This can't be Shiratorizawa already," he says.

Akaashi steps forward, placing his hand on the stone in front of him. He glances to the side and stiffens in surprise. Beckoning Kuroo toward him, he points to his left.

"Look. It's not a wall. It's a maze."

Kuroo steps forward quickly, joining Akaashi in looking to the left. Sure enough, the wall his hand is on is set further ahead than it appeared, revealing a hallway to the left. When Kuroo turns, he sees there's also an entrance to a hall on the right.

"This maze wasn't here when we looked down from the hill," he states, confident in that fact.

"It's more magic trying to keep us away from Shiratorizawa," Akaashi says with a nod.

"We're probably going to get trapped in there for days, possibly weeks," Kuroo says, not liking the looks of this new obstacle.

"Probably," Akaashi agrees.

The two of them stand there staring at each other for a moment, before Kuroo turns away, clutching the strap of his knapsack tightly. "Fuck it. Let's go."

Akaashi looks amused, but he follows Kuroo without protest. They step into the maze and begin to walk. Kuroo keeps one hand on the wall, leaving a trail of burnt ivy in his wake in order to keep track of where they've been. Akaashi is quiet beside him. Kuroo tries not to think of what'll happen if they end up stuck in this maze forever. He knows Akaashi's probably trying to avoid the same subject.

Still, the silence is almost deafening, as the walls muffle any noise from the outside. Only the sound of their footsteps against the grass can be heard. Even the whisper is silent, apparently not having any smart remarks to make in the dullness of the time passing.

After a while Kuroo grows antsy, so he turns to look at Akaashi, studying his profile for a moment before speaking.

"You know, Bo talks about you a lot."

Akaashi stiffens, his shoulders rolling back. He stares straight ahead, however, giving no other indication that he's heard Kuroo. Still, Kuroo continues on, desperate to fill the awkward silence.

"Yeah, you know, he's really smitten and everything. Even before the two of you got together he would talk about you and the letters he sent you. And even when we were making out and stuff . . . it wasn't like he was kissing me most of the time, you know? He was doing it for you, so when you guys had your first kiss it'd be good. We never . . . I mean, I knew from the start how he felt about you so, out of respect for that I never, you know, initiated sex or anything. Just, uh, in case you were wondering . . ."

"Kuroo-san."

"Shit, you probably don't want to hear this, uh—"

"Kuroo-san." Akaashi places his hand on Kuroo's arm, stopping them from advancing. "We've gone in a circle."

Kuroo blinks, turning to look at the wall beside him and seeing the scorch marks he left the first time around beneath the ones he just made. He frowns, lifting his head to look around. There's nothing else on the walls to distinguish where they are.

"Fuck!" Kuroo pulls his hand away from the wall in order to run it through his hair in frustration. "Shit, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention, I guess. I'll shut up this time."

Akaashi shakes his head. "No. It's fine. I don't necessarily want to hear about you and Bokuto-san, but . . . your voice is nice. It's better than listening to my thoughts, at least." He looks away, lips pursed.

"You want me to keep talking?' Kuroo asks in surprise.

Akaashi shrugs, not really answering but not dissenting either. Kuroo blinks, feeling put on the spot somewhat now and not sure what to say. Akaashi sighs, starting to walk again.

"Tell me about your life before."

Kuroo moves quickly to fall into step with him. "You really want to hear about that?"

Akaashi nods. "I'm curious."

Feeling somewhat gratified, Kuroo squares his shoulders and ignites his fingers once more, trailing them along the wall to mark their place, as he begins his story.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Bokuto wakes to sunlight streaming through the window, lighting his face and rumpled bed sheets. Still groggy with sleep, he yawns, reaching to the side for Keiji. He's not ready to get up just yet. He wants to snuggle into Keiji's warmth, holding him close and breathe in the sweet scent of his shampoo. But his hand falls to the mattress of his futon, and when he opens his eyes he sees that the space beside him is empty.

_Oh. Right._

It's been nearly a month since Keiji and Tetsurou left on their mission, and each day Bokuto can feel his bond with Keiji growing weaker. Seeing them through the scrying glass isn't the same as having them right in front of him, able to touch and hold and kiss. He can feel the ache in his chest strengthening every morning, and every night he struggles to fall asleep as the weight of his loneliness threatens to crush him.

He knows he's not alone. He trains with Hinata Shouyou in the afternoons, learning how to fight with weapons as well as his hands and with magic. King Sugawara has been teaching him and Kozume magic, but lately he's taken to turning the instruction over to Michimiya Yui, a nice female faerie who's ever patient but also not as skilled as Sugawara. Bokuto wants to learn from the best! He wants to know more about his cousin and the faerie blood that runs through them both.

But whenever he tries to get an audience with the king, he's told that Sugawara is busy and will have to speak to him later, but there's never a later. Only more waiting and waiting and waiting.

Bokuto understands that Karasuno is on the verge of war. And with Oikawa and Iwaizumi not yet having returned, it makes sense that Sugawara would be tense. But why did the king bring him here if he was just going to ignore him? Bokuto hates being ignored.

At least Kozume still spends time with him. When they're not practicing magic together, Bokuto's either performing the cleansing ritual or he's simply hanging out with Kozume, as the younger man rests in Hinata's company, or simply relaxes at the onsen. He's taken to reading, a pastime Bokuto's never had much patience for unless he's actively researching something. He can't sit still that long. Even watching Kozume gets him antsy, and so he tries to engage Kozume in games or conversation. At first Kozume seemed exasperated by him, but nowadays he indulges him and Bokuto thinks he's starting to enjoy their time together as well.

At least, there are times when Bokuto catches him smiling, so that must mean he enjoys it considering Kozume's not known to smile very often.

Lately, though, he seems tired and less likely to smile, more prone to snapping. As they eat breakfast together one morning, Bokuto ventures to ask about it.

"Are you not sleeping well?" he asks curiously.

Kozume shakes his head. "It's not that. I've been practicing dream walking."

Bokuto blinks at him. "Sugawara-san only showed us that spell once. You've already mastered it?"

Kozume wrinkles his nose. "Not exactly," he admits. "I only connect less than half of the time I try and it usually takes me a couple hours to connect."

Bokuto continues to stare. "Who have you visited?" he asks. "Can you show me how?"

Kozume looks skeptical. "You'll have to sit still and quiet while you do it. You have to hover between being asleep and being awake, like you're sleeping but only half-heartedly." He smirks faintly. "You never do anything half-hearted."

"Well, yeah!" Bokuto says. "But I bet I can do it if I try! Come on, Kozume, show me! Show me, pleeeeeease?" He hops up from his place at the table, going to Kozume's chair and dropping to his knees, clutching his arm and shaking him lightly. "Teach me, Kozume-sensei!"

Kozume rolls his eyes, but there's a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He tries to pull his arm away from Bokuto, but he clings tightly.

"Okay, okay, fine," he says. "Can I eat now?"

Bokuto hops to his feet, grinning. "Hey, hey, hey!" he crows in triumph, fists in the air.

Kozume fights a smile, as he turns back to his food. But now Bokuto's too excited to eat. He bounces in place, thinking of all the possibilities that this creates. He'll be able to see Keiji and Tetsurou. It won't be completely real, but he'll be able to touch them and hold them, maybe even kiss them. He'll be able to kiss Keiji again.

His chest aches.

"Geez, Kozume, you're eating so slow!" he exclaims.

Kozume sighs and sets down his fork. "Ugh, fine. Let's go."

Bokuto practically vibrates, as he follows Kozume out of the dining hall and toward the training room.

"You won't be able to connect with anyone who isn't asleep," Kozume reminds him. "So I can just show you the basic technique. You won't be able to test it out until tonight."

"Right, right, I know," Bokuto says with a nod.

Kozume moves to kneel in the center of the room, sitting back on his heels. He places his hands on his knees and waits for Bokuto to mirror his posture. He does, looking back at Kozume and getting the full brunt of his direct gaze. A shiver runs down his spine. Kozume so rarely looks people in the eye . . . it always catches Bokuto off-guard when he sees those large eyes, gold like his own but deeper somehow. Like they hold the secrets of the universe.

Bokuto swallows hard, and Kozume lowers his gaze to the floor between them.

"You have to clear your mind," Kozume says, his voice soft. "You can't think of any distractions. It's like aura bonding except . . . not really."

Bokuto nods like this makes perfect sense, though honestly he's still somewhat confused.

"You just clear your mind and focus on the person you want to reach. Call upon your magic and say the incantation. If they're asleep, you'll connect. If you're concentrating." Kozume sighs. "It's difficult to explain . . ."

"No, no I think I get it!" Bokuto assures him. "So what's the incantation?"

Kozume says it slowly, and Bokuto repeats after him. They go over it again and again until Bokuto has the inflection and pronunciation down perfectly.

"Sugawara-sama says it works best if you're already bonded with the person you're trying to reach," Kozume admits, shifting his weight so he's sitting directly on the floor. He stretches his legs out in front of him, wiggling his toes.

Bokuto remembers to whom Kozume has bonded, and his mood plummets. "Oh. So you've probably visited Akaashi a lot, huh?" he asks, knowing he pouting but unable to help it. His stomach twists at the thought of Kozume holding Keiji when he hasn't been able to. In a dream world they'd be able to touch. Kiss. Or even . . .

He shakes his head quickly to clear it of that mental image. Kozume's blushing, not looking at him.

"I've been visiting Kuroo," he murmurs softly.

Bokuto blinks. _Oh._

He tilts his head, studying Kozume closely. "You really like him, huh?" he asks, grinning slowly.

Kozume pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and not answering. Bokuto reaches out to poke his shoulder, still grinning.

"You dooooo."

Kozume shrugs his shoulder, shooting Bokuto a small glare. But it's too cute for Bokuto to be intimidated by it.

"I saw that kiss you gave him before he left," Bokuto sings. "He's a great kisser, isn't he? Taught me everything I know."

"Shut up," Kozume mutters, resting his forehead on his knees, his hair swinging forward to hide his face.

Bokuto leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him as well. "They'll be back," he says, with more confidence than he feels. He nudges Kozume's shoulder with his own. "So let's keep practicing so we can impress them with how strong we've gotten." He jumps to his feet and holds his hand out to his companion.

Kozume lifts his head slowly, staring at his hand a moment before lifting his gaze to meet Bokuto's. After a brief pause, he nods and takes Bokuto's hand. "Okay."

 

 

 

 

 

That night, Bokuto's full of nervous energy. He gets ready for bed, but once he's under the comforter he closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly. Pushing aside all his worries and excitement as best he can, he opens up his mind to the magic flowing in him, the pulsating beat of his aura. He calls upon it, feels it wrap its warmth around him like a rainbow blanket.

He thinks of Keiji. He tries to focus on his face, but finds himself instead remembering their night together before he left. The soft, low cadence of his voice; the tickle of his hair against Bokuto's face; the warmth of his hands running smoothly over his heated skin.

Keiji has to be the most beautiful man Bokuto's ever seen in his entire life. In his opinion, not even those here at the faerie kingdom can compare to him. Bokuto finds himself smiling, thinking on Keiji's laugh, the tilt of his smile, the self-conscious way he twists his fingers together.

What he wouldn't give to hold and kiss those fingers now.

Suddenly something shifts. He feels something akin to a tingle across his forehead. When he opens his eyes, he's in Keiji's house back in Sendai. It feels different, though. Emptier. Colder. Bokuto wanders through the familiar space and feels like a stranger.

"Hello?" he calls tentatively.

"Koutarou?"

Whirling around, he sees Keiji in front of him, staring at him in disbelief.

"Keiji!" Bokuto bounds forward, but Keiji stands limply in his enthusiastic hug. Bokuto's disappointed to find that he can't feel Keiji's warmth, smell his hair. But he's holding him, and he's solid and _there_ , so Bokuto just clings tighter. "I miss you. I miss you so much."

"Koutarou, what are you doing here? How did you—?"

"Kozume showed me how to dream walk! He's been visiting Kuroo . . . I asked him to show me how. I needed to see you. To hold you. Fuck, I miss you so much." He turns his head, pressing kiss after kiss against the side of Keiji's face. Again, it's not the same. But it's more than what he's had in a month, and so he's not going to complain.

But then Keiji pushes him back and steps away, out of reach. Bokuto watches him, arms still outstretched. He frowns faintly. Keiji's not looking at him. His gaze is turned toward the kitchen, at the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard.

"You shouldn't be here," he says.

Bokuto feels the words like a slap to the face. He recoils, staring aghast at Keiji. "But . . . I wanted to see you."

"This is an invasion of my privacy," Keiji snaps, turning back to frown at Bokuto. "You can't just go walking into people's heads, Koutarou. I don't want you in here."

"But—"

Keiji turns away, and as he walks toward the sliding glass doors, the walls begin to fade, growing transparent. Bokuto's chest tightens, and he leaps forward, arm outstretched.

"Keiji, wait!"

He stumbles, as the floor suddenly drops out from under him. Before he's thrust out of the dream, he thinks he hears the sound of a child crying.

Sitting up in bed, Bokuto clutches at his chest, his heart pounding. Curling his fingers into a fist, he slams it into the futon beneath him, frustration burning in his veins. Why hadn't Keiji wanted him in his dream? Didn't he want to see him as badly as Bokuto wanted to see Keiji? And who had been crying? It sounded like a child, but could it have been Keiji?

If Keiji's upset, Bokuto wants to hold him, comfort him. But how can he do that if Keiji refuses to see him?

Growling under his breath, Bokuto falls back against his pillows. Pressing his palms into his eyes, he fights back tears. The ache in his chest has only grown sharper, and he feels more alone than ever.

 

 

 

 

 

"I just . . . I don't understand why he'd do that. I thought he'd be happy to see me, to be able to touch me," Bokuto says, still disheartened the next day.

Kozume's changing behind a screen and doesn't say anything, but Bokuto can hear his movements slowing, as he thinks. The room is already set up for the cleansing, with the stones heating over the hearth in the center of the room, the incense and candles scattered about. The warm atmosphere doesn't comfort Bokuto, however, as he dwells on Keiji's rejection.

"Akaashi's a private person. I told you that already," Kozume says, stepping out from behind the screen, holding the sheet around his waist.

Bokuto glances at him and then looks away, allowing Kozume privacy to climb up on the futon and arrange the sheet over himself before curling his arms around the pillow. He sets his head down against it with a sigh, closing his eyes.

"He was probably having a nightmare and didn't want you to see it."

Bokuto bites his lip. "If Akaashi's having nightmares, he should let me comfort him."

Kozume doesn't open his eyes. "He has Kuroo."

Bokuto sighs. "I know. And I know Kuroo's great at comforting people. He's always been there to comfort me when I need him. But . . . it's not the same. _I'm_ Akaashi's boyfriend. _I_ should be there." He looks down at his hands. "I should've gone with him."

Kozume props himself up on his elbows, looking over at Bokuto. "You don't know anything about traveling or stealth, and you're barely at Shouyou's level of magic. You would've been useless to him."

Bokuto grimaces, frowning then. "Geez, you don't sugarcoat anything, do you?"

Kozume lies back down. "I'm just saying . . . you're not doing anyone any good by moping about this. Just focus on getting stronger. When Akaashi wants you, he'll come to you. In the meantime, let Kuroo be his friend."

 _They don't even like each other,_ Bokuto thinks, though he hopes that's changed over the course of the past month. He hasn't really asked Keiji for updates on that relationship, but he knows how good and kind Tetsurou is and hopes that Keiji will realize that he can have a friend in him.

"Bokuto . . ."

Bokuto shakes his head, pulling himself out of his daze. Kozume's looking up at him, waiting, and Bokuto grimaces. He doesn't want to be useless. He _can't_ be useless. He has a part to play here, just like everyone else. And while he wishes his part included being by Keiji's side always, right now he's with Kozume, and Kozume needs him.

Kozume needs him.

Bokuto inhales deeply, letting the air out slowly. "Right," he says, clapping his hands together. "Let's do this!"

Kozume rolls his eyes, but Bokuto's now focused on his task. He steps over to the stones, using the cloth to lift the largest one. He waits a moment for it to cool some before slowly lowering it onto Kozume's back and murmuring the incantation. Kozume barely flinches, used to the heat by now. They've been doing this at least twice a week, ever since Sugawara showed Bokuto how. Afterwards, Hinata always draws Kozume a bath and the two of them talk as Kozume relaxes and starts to fall asleep. That's usually when Bokuto spends some times talking with Keiji over the scrying glass, but he's not sure his boyfriend will want to speak with him tonight.

Kozume hisses softly in pain. Bokuto freezes. "What's wrong?"

"Your aura," he murmurs. "It's agitated."

Bokuto winces. Sugawara told him that he needed to keep his mind clear of strife and bad thoughts because it could affect the process. His intentions need to be pure, comforting. It seems he can't even do _that_ right.

"I'm sorry. Fuck. I can't do this." He sets the stone back on the hearth, shaking his head. "I'll go get Hinata. He won't be useless."

He turns toward the door, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach that's twisting and turning. His eyes burn, but he fights back the tears of helplessness that start to blur his vision. A small hand grabs his wrist, holding him fast. He pauses, turning to look down at Kozume in surprise.

Kozume frowns at him, propping himself up once more on his free arm. "Stop."

"Kozume, I—"

Shaking his head, Kozume tugs on his hand, moving to sit up. The sheet slips, and Bokuto finds himself blushing before Kozume covers himself once more. Holding the sheet in place with one hand, he pulls Bokuto closer and then releases his hand in order to pat the spot next to him on the futon.

Bokuto sits gingerly, despair still clinging like tar to the inside of his chest. "Kozume, I can't do this. I'm going to end up hurting you somehow. I'm not strong enough. I'm not good enough. I'm not—"

Kozume reaches up and flicks his forehead, hard. Bokuto yelps, rubbing the spot.

"I said stop. When I said your aura was agitated, I didn't mean I wanted you to leave. I just wanted to know what was wrong."

"Everything. Everything's wrong. Kei-Akaashi doesn't want to see me. Sugawara-sama doesn't want to see me. You're going to get tired of me soon, I bet. And I can't even perform this ritual right, because I'm so upset about everything else! I'm going crazy!" Bokuto grabs his hair, pulling at it. Not having access to hair products, it's grown soft and long, falling about his ears and neck, but now he pulls it up into the horned look he usually wears.

Kozume's lips twitch. He reaches up and swats Bokuto's hands away from his hair, smoothing the locks down around his forehead.

"You're fine," he assures him. "Sugawara is a king on the brink of war. You know that. You also know that Akaashi probably _does_ want to see you; he just doesn't want you inside his head. You're always blowing things out of proportion. Calm down."

"It's easy for you to say," Bokuto grumbles. "You never get upset about anything."

Kozume tilts his head. "That's not true."

"Well, I've never _seen_ you get upset."

Another twitch. "You haven't known me for very long."

Kozume has him there. Bokuto looks down at his hands, not feeling much better at that reminder.

"I miss him. I miss Akaashi. And I miss Kuroo. I'm so lonely. Gah." Bokuto covers his face with his arm, fighting back more tears. "And it's like you said, I barely know you. I don't know anyone here, not really. I want to go home."

"No, you don't," Kozume says flatly. "You want to learn more about magic and your faerie heritage. You want to grow stronger so you can be Akaashi's equal."

He's right, but Bokuto still feels down, and he continues to pout. Kozume sighs, nudging him gently with his elbow.

"You're not alone here. You have me, and I get lonely too." Kozume worms his hand into one of Bokuto's, giving it a firm squeeze. It's so much smaller than Bokuto's hand. He's a little afraid he'll break it if he squeezes back too hard. He looks up, though, and finds Kozume watching him with those large golden eyes.

"Hi," he says, and an actual smile tilts his lips. "I'm Kenma."

Bokuto's eyes widen. "H-Hi," he stammers, not entirely sure what to make of the situation now. His skin feels hot, and his heart is pounding faster. Kenma's eyes aren't leaving his, and his mouth feels dry suddenly. He swallows hard, licking his lips before speaking. "I'm Koutarou."

"Koutarou," Kenma says the name slowly, as though tasting it. He smiles again then and nods. "I like it."

Bokuto's heart swells. Before he can think about what he's doing, he leans down and kisses Kenma's smiling lips. Kenma stiffens, and Bokuto's senses return. He pulls away quickly, leaping to his feet.

"HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

Kenma shakes his head, reaching up to touch his lips with his fingertips. "It's fine," he says, lowering his hand then.

Bokuto shakes his head, backing up slowly. "No, no, no, I fucked up. You're Kuroo's guy. And Kuroo's my best friend and I can't do that to him." He shakes his head again. "Fuck, I can't do that to Akaashi either. Fuck! He's going to hate me even _more_!"

Kenma grimaces. "So noisy," he complains, touching his ear.

Bokuto lowers his voice immediately. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Shit, I just . . . I don't know. I just. You were smiling at me. And I've felt so alone and then here you were being so nice and comforting and I just . . . I'm so sorry."

"Koutarou," Kenma says flatly. "Shut up."

Bokuto closes his mouth quickly, pursing his lips together. Kenma sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"Look . . . it's not like we haven't all already kissed each other, right? You and Kuroo kiss. You and Akaashi kiss. Me and Kuroo . . ." He trails off, a flush coloring his cheeks. He turns his gaze to the floor. "It's not a big deal," he mutters finally.

Bokuto's heart rate slowly begins to return to normal, but he approaches Kenma cautiously. "Are you sure?" he asks.

Kenma nods, turning his head to peer up at Bokuto from behind his hair. "Are you okay?"

"I think so?" Bokuto laughs nervously. "My heart isn't racing anymore at least." He lays his hand on his chest to check anyway.

Kenma looks satisfied and moves to lie down again. "Keep going. You're not going to hurt me again."

Bokuto hesitates. "I-I don't—"

"Koutarou." Kenma fixes him with that direct gaze again, and Bokuto's spine tingles. "I don't like repeating myself. I trust you."

Bokuto's eyes widen once more. "You do?"

Kenma rolls his eyes. "Obviously. My life is literally in your hands right now."

"Oh, yeah," Bokuto looks down at his hands a moment, curling his fingers into fists and inhaling deeply. He lets the air out and nods resolutely. "Right. Right! Don’t worry, Kenma-kun. I'll take good care of you!"

Kenma rests his head on the pillow and smiles once more. "I know."

 

 

 

 

That night, as Bokuto struggles to sleep and the darkness around him feels suffocating, his tumultuous thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his door sliding open. He sits up, watching as a slim figure dressed in white makes its way to his bedside.

"Kenma?"

Kenma says nothing, only pulls back the covers of the futon and climbs into them. He puts his hand on Bokuto's chest, pushing him down onto his back, before snuggling up to his side.

"Um."

"Go to sleep," Kenma murmurs. "It's not a big deal."

Confused yet grateful for the warmth and the company, Bokuto wraps his arm around Kenma and closes his eyes. For the first time since Keiji left, he falls asleep without trouble.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Nearly a month at Shiratorizawa and Iwaizumi's beginning to suspect that he and Tooru are either the worst spies ever or the faeries are holding them hostage. For one thing, he and Tooru can never seem to leave their room without some Shiratorizawa faerie following them around. They've tried to shake their stalker on several occasions, but he's always there, lingering in their peripheral.

Iwaizumi knows better than to go storming into King Ushijima's throne room to demand an explanation, but Tooru is growing anxious. He can see it in the way he's been fidgeting, playing with the ring on his finger by twisting it around and around and around . . .

"We'll figure something out," Iwaizumi assures him at night.

But Tooru's brain has never been able to just turn off or relax, and every day he comes up with theory after ridiculous theory about why Ushiwaka won't let them move about the palace the way they used to.

"We haven't given him any reason to distrust us," Tooru says one day as they're in the training room. It's one of the few places they're allowed to go, and since Iwaizumi still feels queasy at the thought of dueling with Tooru, they've taken to sparring hand-to-hand to keep up their athleticism and strength.

"Maybe he found out about us trying to spy on him," Iwaizumi says.

"How could he know that? We talked about it in our room. Nobody else was around."

Iwaizumi frowns, thinking. "Surveillance?"

Tooru gives him a contemplative look. "You think we're being watched?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? But I'm not sure how he could do that without cameras and stuff, and this place isn't exactly built for technology."

Tooru purses his lips. "He doesn't need technology, Iwa-chan. He has magic."

"Oh. Right." Iwaizumi's stomach twists. The thought of their every movement being watched makes him feel small and trapped, like a mouse in a laboratory.

"Iwa-chan," Tooru says then softly, staring off at the door. "Have you seen Tobio-chan lately?"

Iwaizumi blinks. "Uh, no actually. I figured he was just doing his own thing."

"But he always comes here to train with you, doesn't he?" Tooru turns toward him, eyes large and calculating.

"Uh, yeah. But he hasn't for the past few days. Again, I thought he decided he was good enough to train on his own or something."

Tooru shakes his head. "He worships the ground you walk on. He wouldn't just stop seeing you for no reason. Something's going on here, Iwa-chan. We have to figure out what it is."

"How exactly? If we're being watched?"

"We'll just have to talk to someone directly."

"Won't they just lie?"

"You can figure out a lot from people's lies, Iwa-chan," Tooru says, touching the side of his nose and winking.

"I don't think it's that simple," Iwaizumi mutters, but when Tooru turns toward the door, he hurries after him.

"Wait, you meant right now?"

"I'm tired of waiting around for something to happen, aren't you? We're not going to get any answers unless we take them for ourselves."

"Just . . . be careful. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and find out you're missing too."

"Awww, Iwa-chan is such a sap," Tooru says with a dismissive grin.

"And _you're_ self-destructive," Iwaizumi retorts, stepping out into the hall with him.

Tooru turns in the direction of the throne room, his steps long and purposeful. Iwaizumi has to quicken his pace to keep up. _So I guess we **are** just storming in._

"Sugawara-sama gave you back to me," Tooru says. "I owe him a debt. We both do. Trying to spy isn't working, so we have to go at this directly. Isn't that how you prefer to do things?" He gives Iwaizumi a quick smile, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, in battle or in games. This sort of thing is like politics. Don't go in there accusing Ushiwaka of anything, okay?"

"Iwa-chan, it's like you don't even know me," Tooru says, shaking his head. "I know exactly how to play this."

Before Iwaizumi can reply, they've arrived at the throne room. Tooru slides open the doors, stepping forward with his head held high. Iwaizumi follows, keeping close to Tooru's unprotected back and wishing he had a weapon. At the far end of the room on a dais sits Ushijima, flanked by Tendou Satori and Semi Eita. All three look up as they enter.

Before Tooru can approach the dais they're surrounded by guards. Spears are leveled at their chests, and Tooru puts his hands up immediately, smiling disarmingly.

"We come in peace," he says. "I just had a question to ask Ushijima-sama. If he'll permit me?"

The guards turn to look at their king, who nods after a moment. The spears are lowered, and Tooru walks toward the dais with his chin held high, his back straight. There's no sign of fear or anxiety on him anywhere, and Iwaizumi can't help but admire that mask of confidence.

"Kageyama-kun from Karasuno is missing. I'm wondering if you have any idea as to his whereabouts," Tooru says, keeping his tone light and conversational.

"Maybe he was exploring and got lost. Shiratorizawa is quite a large kingdom, even here in the capitol," Tendou says with a grin.

"While that is a possibility, considering how I and Iwaizumi here have been followed around as of late, I find that unlikely and, frankly, it would be irresponsible of your staff to let the child just wander about freely without an escort," Tooru says plainly, keeping his gaze on Ushijima.

Iwaizumi watches him with some awe, wondering when the heck he learned to talk like that. Tendou's grin has shifted into a sneer.

"Are you implying something unsavory, demon brat?" he asks, half-rising from his seat.

"Tendou, peace," Ushijima waves his hand, and Tendou sits back, though his expression doesn't change.

"We can send someone to look for the boy," Ushijima says. "But I can assure you that we harbor no ill will toward him. Or you. You are being followed for your own safety. Rumors have spread that a demon is here in the palace, and that makes my people uneasy."

"I thought you were advocating for peace among everyone," Iwaizumi says, finding his voice finally. "Are your people going to be 'uneasy' once they get to Japan? If they start attacking people who are different—"

"That's not going to happen," Ushijima says, and he sounds so convinced of this, Iwaizumi isn't sure how to form a rebuttal. "I told you that I have a way to create peace throughout Japan and all the countries of your world. I would not be confident in this if I didn't know my own people could be trusted to maintain peace as well. However, demons have a reputation, and the last half-demon my people saw tried to destroy the world. You'll understand if they are wary of having such a person in their home."

He regards Tooru with a flat gaze. "If you join my mission, they will see that they have nothing to be afraid of."

"Yeah, well, I'm not completely sold on the whole 'create world peace' campaign you have going on here," Tooru admits. "How exactly do you plan on swaying all the countries in the world to your view point? Mind control?"

"He's trying to make the world a better place," Tendou says, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you so resistant against this plan? Do you _like_ having your world in chaos? Wars everywhere. Poverty. Disease. Ushijima-sama can fix all that, don't you see? He's the world's savior!"

"But if accomplishing all this takes away everyone's free will, how is that real peace? You'll just be treating everyone like puppets. Like pieces on a chess board to do with as you please."

"Can you honestly say that leaving people to their own free will has done anything good for your world?" Semi asks plainly. "Greed and lust and wrath permeate human minds. Ushijima-sama will save them from themselves."

"But you'll also be erasing creativity! Love and happiness and friendship! Yeah, sure, suffering is terrible, and I wish there was less of it, but without darkness how can you truly appreciate the light?"

"So you would rather suffer and feel your insignificant emotions, than never experience suffering at all for the rest of your life?" Ushijima asks, his gaze still fixed on Tooru.

" _Yes_ ," Tooru declares. "It's better than being an emotionless sack of meat like you!"

"Hey, watch it!" Tendou jumps to his feet.

Ushijima holds his hand out to stay Tendou's attack. "But do you have the authority to make that decision for your entire world?"

"Do _you_?" Tooru seethes.

Ushijima lowers his hand. "I have the power, and therefore the authority. That is how things work, is it not?"

Iwaizumi places his hand on Tooru's arm. "Oikawa," he murmurs softly. "Let's go."

Tooru shakes him off. "No. What gives you the right to decide how people should act and feel? Just because you have the power to control people, that doesn't mean you should use it! You can't give people fake happiness and tell them it's better for them while you're free to do whatever the hell you want with their lives!"

Iwaizumi glances uneasily at the guards who are advancing, swords drawn. He grabs Tooru's arm once more. "Oikawa!" he hisses. "Shut up."

Tooru inhales sharply, glancing around at the tense guards, at Tendou's hand on his own sword, before looking back at Iwaizumi. He frowns slightly. "Iwa-chan, he's _wrong_."

"And you're going to get us killed if you keep going," Iwaizumi says sharply. He turns to Ushijima and bows his head slightly. "Sorry for him. Please let us know if you find Kageyama-kun. We'll go back to our rooms."

He turns to leave, dragging Tooru along behind him. Although he doesn't have magic, he can feel Tooru's anger as though he does; his aura's radiating heat. Iwaizumi pulls him down the hallways and stairs until he reaches their room, shoving him inside and sliding the door shut.

"We can't let him get away with this, Iwa-chan," Tooru says. "He's trying to take over the world! Who knows what he's going to do with it if he succeeds!"

Iwaizumi's stomach twists. "Semi-san made a good point, though," he has to admit. "A world without greed and wrath and all that _would_ be nice."

Tooru stares at him, mouth agape. "Iwa-chan! Don't tell me you're buying into all that! You _hate_ the fact that I used mind-control on Makki and Mattsun."

Iwaizumi runs his hand over his hair agitatedly. "No, I know, I know. It's messed up, okay? I know that. I just . . ." He glances down at Tooru's hand, at the ring on his finger. He reaches out to take Tooru's hand, lifting it to show him the ring. "You wouldn't have to wear this, you know? You wouldn't have to use your glamour. You could just be yourself and nobody would be afraid of you or try to kill you. You'd be safe. Everyone would be safe. Isn't that what you want too?"

Tooru bites his lip, glancing at the ring and then looking back into Iwaizumi's face. "But . . . I thought you didn't want me to be a demon. You think you're a bad Hunter for falling in love with a demon. With me."

Iwaizumi shakes his head. "I didn't mean it like that. Oikawa, your demon half . . . it's a part of you. And I . . . and I love all of you." He sighs, dropping Tooru's hand and taking a step back. "You don't need this ring or a glamour for me to love you. I'm not in love with this-this idealized version of you." He gestures to the façade in front of him, the one the ring created the second Tooru put it on.

"I'm in love with _Tooru_. The kid who told me he was an alien. The kid who cried on his tenth birthday because kids at school thought he was weird and didn't show up to his party. The pain-in-the-ass best friend I've had for practically my entire life. _That's_ the Tooru I want. That's the Tooru I love. And if Ushiwaka's plan allows that Tooru to live without fear, without having to hide, then . . . I think it's worth considering."

"You . . . you'd give up your free will, even your emotions, so I can be free?" Tooru asks, his voice small and quiet.

Iwaizumi nods. "Yes."

Tooru wrinkles his nose. "Well, I don't want you to. It might be selfish, but you might not be _able_ to love me if Ushijima has his way. And I want Iwa-chan to love me, to want to devour me, to laugh and cry and _live_ with me. I don't want you to be a mindless robot for my sake or the sake of the world."

Iwaizumi's chest aches. Because he wants that too. In reality, he wants to forget about all this and just go home with Tooru, live with him, hunt with him, just the way they used to. But now they're in this situation, caught between a rock and a hard place, and he doesn't know what to do or what to decide.

Their only real option is to either join Ushijima or help Sugawara try to stop him. But what chance do they have to stop him if they're stuck in the center of Shiratorizawa? If they make an enemy out of Ushijima while here they're as good as dead.

Suddenly an idea hits him. He glances around the room, remembering their earlier conversation about surveillance. Grabbing Tooru's wrist, then, he pulls him into the bathroom. Ignoring Tooru's bewildered "Iwa-chan?" he leans over and turns on the water for the bath (glad that Ushijima has kept up with indoor plumbing at least). While it's running, he turns to Tooru and lowers his voice.

"What if we just pretend?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if we just play along with Ushijima's plan until we find an opening to stop him?"

Tooru's eyes widen, before he frowns suddenly and shakes his head. "I don’t think he'd believe me after I yelled at him."

"Then I'll pretend," Iwaizumi says. "I'll get close to him; try to thwart him from the inside if I get an opening. You can try to find Kageyama. They're probably holding him hostage to try and get Sugawara to give them the key to the portal. If we can get him back to Karasuno, then that'll stall Ushijima's progress at least some and maybe we can come up with a better plan with Sugawara."

"That sounds dangerous," Tooru murmurs. "I don't like the idea of splitting up. _Or_ the thought of you getting close to that emotionless prick."

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself," Iwaizumi says, shaking his head. "You're better at stealth anyway. You have magic on your side too."

"Oh." Tooru looks down at his ring, rubbing it gently.

Iwaizumi follows his gaze. "I told you," he adds softly. "You don't need that with me."

Inhaling shakily, Tooru slowly slides off the ring. Immediately his horns, red eye, and scales reappear, claws taking the place of his fingernails, sharp teeth poking out from behind his lips. Tooru flinches, clutching the ring in his palm.

"Hey," Iwaizumi says. "You look fine."

"I look hideous," Tooru mutters, scowling at the floor.

Iwaizumi reaches for Tooru's face, taking the left side in his hand, stroking his thumb over the raised bits of hardened skin that cover his cheek. He grips the back of Tooru's head, forcing him to lift it and meet Iwaizumi's gaze. He stares into those two different colored eyes and feels his chest squeeze around his heart.

"Iwa-chan?" Tooru leans into his touch, watching him with curious eyes.

Iwaizumi's heart works its way into his throat. How long has it been since he kissed Tooru? Too long, it seems like. He's been keeping himself at a distance to figure out what he wants to do with everything that happened between them, but the fact of the matter is he's tired of trying to be responsible with his feelings. He practically just confessed to still having feelings for Tooru, so that much hasn't changed. He's forgiven him for what happened the night before the Hell Mouth opening. So why is he still holding back?

_It's because I'm terrified, probably._

He's never been in love before. He's never had this all-consuming fire inside him before. He's never looked at someone and felt his heart splinter yet remain full. Not until he looked at his best friend and truly _saw_ him. Saw how human he was despite the demon blood. Saw how vulnerable he was despite the powerful magic running through his veins. Saw the love and hope and beauty Tooru contained in every single cell of his body.

Oikawa Tooru is unlike anyone Iwaizumi's ever known. And he loves him. So much.

He initiates the kiss tentatively. It feels backwards somehow, to be nervous and trembling now even though they've already made love and seen each other fall apart in ecstasy. Really, there's no need to be shy. But he feels like the thread connecting them has grown thin over the past month, and he doesn't want to break it.

Tooru presses back almost immediately. His hands come up to hold Iwaizumi's sides, and he pulls him closer with a murmur. Iwaizumi steps forward willingly, tilting his head to get a better angle in the kiss. Tooru's lips are soft, pliant, and when Iwaizumi nibbles on the lower one gently, Tooru groans and curls his fingers into Iwaizumi's kimono, gripping it tightly.

Iwaizumi slides his fingers up into Tooru's hair, moving them up further to stroke Tooru's left horn. It's hard like bone, the ridges rough beneath Iwaizumi's fingertips. Tooru shivers, pulling away with a gasp. Iwaizumi blinks back at him, his hand still on the horn. He gives it another stroke and Tooru closes his eyes, a shudder running through him.

Iwaizumi can't help but smirk faintly. "So, this is a thing, huh?" he asks.

"Mmph, it's just . . . tickles," Tooru says, opening his eyes. They remain half-lidded, however, dark with lust. The red of his demon eye flashes, and Iwaizumi feels heat pool low in his stomach.

He quickly pulls his hand away, his cheeks growing warm. "Uh, we should probably—"

He doesn't get to finish that sentence. Tooru's grip on his waist tightens, and Iwaizumi finds himself hitting the wall of the bathroom hard, as Tooru's lips descend on his once more. This time there's no hesitance, no shy touches. Tooru's lips are hungry, eager, and Iwaizumi can't help but fall into his rhythm with fervor.

His fingers grab at Tooru's obi, tugging on it to loosen it. He shoves it down over Tooru's hips until it slips to the floor at his feet. He can feel Tooru's hands doing the same to his obi, and then Tooru's slipping inside his kimono and nagajuban. Iwaizumi pants hot breaths into Tooru's mouth, grimacing as he feels Tooru's hand take hold of his half-hard length, stroking it rapidly.

Heat swells through him, rushing like a tidal wave through his veins. He leans his head back against the wall behind him, gritting his teeth to stifle the moan that vibrates through his chest and throat. Tooru's lips move to his neck, nipping and sucking, his hand twisting and pulling until Iwaizumi's swollen and hard, beads of pre-cum dripping from his slit.

"Fuck, Tooru," he groans, shifting one hand to grab Tooru's shoulder. The other fumbles between them, tugging at the folds of Tooru's own kimono and nagajuban, trying to pull the fabric aside to gain access to his member.

Before he can find it, Tooru brushes his hand away, stepping closer to fit their hips together. Iwaizumi moans, as he feels Tooru's hot, wet skin slide against his. Tooru's length is leaking too, and when Tooru wraps his hand around both of them and starts to tug, Iwaizumi's thighs quiver at the added friction.

"Shit, shit," he gasps, his fingers digging into Tooru's shoulder. He's not sure what to do with his other hand now, so he presses his fist against the wall behind him.

Tooru's whimpering softly, as he thrusts shallowly into his hand, rubbing against Iwaizumi with each small movement.

"Iwa-chan," he pants against the flushed skin of his neck. "Ah, nng, _Hajime._ "

Iwaizumi shudders, the pleasure rising quickly. He knows he won't last long. He bites his lip hard to stifle a louder groan, as Tooru's thumb rubs against his tip and his fingers twist gently. The heat keeps building and building, and he pounds his fist against the wall behind him, not sure how much more he can take. Tooru's sharp teeth scrape against his neck, as he latches onto to a soft spot, sucking hard in time with the strokes of his hand.

"Tooru, fuck. Fuck, _Tooru._ "

Iwaizumi's body starts to tremble. Fire burns through him, as the pleasure reaches its peak. He cries out sharply, as the release hits, and Tooru continues to tug on him through his climax, pulling everything from him until he's dry. Iwaizumi chokes on a moan, his knees feeling weak. He feels Tooru's hot cum splash against his stomach, hears the small cry muffled against his skin, and he wraps his arm around Tooru's shoulder, holding him close, as he shudders.

Slowly, Tooru detaches from his neck. He lifts his head to rest it against the side of Iwaizumi's, panting quietly into his ear.

"Iwa-chan," he murmurs, his hand falling to the side.

Iwaizumi swallows down the lump that's forming in his throat. He pushes his fingers up into Tooru's hair, holding his head firmly.

"Does this mean you love me again?" Tooru asks after a moment.

Iwaizumi sighs. "Idiot. I never stopped. Did you even listen to my speech earlier?"

"I just wanted to hear you say it directly," Tooru admits.

Iwaizumi pushes Tooru back to look into his face. He brushes back the sweaty hair off his forehead, flicking it gently then. Tooru pouts, rubbing the spot. Glancing to the side, Iwaizumi sees that the tub is full, threatening to overflow. He reaches over to turn off the water, raising an eyebrow at Tooru.

"We might as well," Tooru agrees, allowing his kimono and nagajuban to fall to the floor. He removes his juban then, stepping into the water and lowering himself into it.

Iwaizumi does the same, getting into the tub across from Tooru. His skin feels weirdly thin and shivery, and he's still somewhat dazed from the high of his climax. He looks across at Tooru, wondering if that really just happened. But then the semen Tooru is wiping from his stomach with a cloth kind of speaks for itself.

"This is terrible timing," he says.

Tooru sighs, throwing the cloth at him. "And here I was hoping you'd wait at least a day before regretting it."

Iwaizumi catches the cloth, using it to wash off his own stomach. "I don't regret it. I'm just saying . . . with everything going on right now, entering into a relationship like this seems really stupid."

"We're nineteen, Iwa-chan. We're _supposed_ to be stupid."

Iwaizumi frowns slightly, setting aside the cloth. "They could use us against each other."

"They could do that anyway." Tooru meets his gaze squarely.

Iwaizumi has to concede that point. "Okay," he says, exhaling shakily. "Okay, so we're doing this."

"Are you nervous, Iwa-chan?" Tooru grins.

"It's not like I have experience with this sort of thing," Iwaizumi points out, frowning deeper.

"Stop worrying. Those lines will ruin your face." Tooru leans forward, pressing his lips against Iwaizumi's firmly for a moment before pulling back. "Everything's going to be fine."

Iwaizumi doubts that very much, but he decides to put aside those worries for now, wrapping his hand around Tooru's neck and bringing him in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	23. darling, stay with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this chapter up this weekend, so I spent the entire day writing this start to finish. /)u(\ Also I edited it after midnight, so I apologize if I missed anything!

 

 

 

 

“you're still trying to protect me.  
real or not real," he whispers.  
  
"real," i answer.  
"because that's what you and i do,  
protect each other.”

\--suzanne collins, _mockingjay_

* * *

 

 

Akaashi's lost track of the days. He has no idea if they've been wandering in this maze for days or weeks. Despite Kuroo's plan to use his magic to burn a trail into the wall to mark where they've been, they've yet to come upon the center or the end of the maze. They continue to find themselves back where they've been before, a second trail appearing beneath or above the first.

He can tell Kuroo's growing frustrated.

There's a tension in the air, charged like electricity. At first he was willing to talk to fill the silence. He told Akaashi about his life before he met Kenta, his time with the young witch; he even revealed some things about his time spent in Hell, fighting demons with only the magic of the demon inside him and his determination to make it out. It's admirable, how strong he was in the face of incredible odds, but Kuroo doesn't seem to think so.

"I just . . . needed to get back to him," he said softly, when Akaashi pointed this out.

Akaashi's mind returns to that image of Kuroo, lost and confused, stepping out of the Hell Mouth to find himself in a world he doesn't recognize. To find the man he loved has been dead and gone for over 600 years. He can't imagine how that must have felt, and after hearing Kuroo's story, he finds himself looking upon the man in a new light.

 _He truly is a good person,_ he has to admit. _He's been kind to me too . . . despite my aversion to him._

Akaashi's done his best to be nicer, to be genuine beneath his normal polite mask. For a while things seemed to get better between them. But as they continue to walk around in circles, Kuroo's grown quieter, more distant. His posture is stiff, his jaw clenched. Sometimes Akaashi catches him scowling, hissing under his breath to a voice only he can hear.

Akaashi doesn't know how to comfort him. Whenever he ventures to say "It's not your fault," or something along those lines, Kuroo shoots him a scowl that tells Akaashi he doesn't believe that in the slightest.

Nights have grown difficult, as well. Ever since Koutarou showed up in his nightmare, Akaashi's been wary about it happening again. As much as he loves Koutarou, there are still parts of him he's unwilling to share. He's not ready for Koutarou to see him as he was, trapped and alone, terrified of losing everything. It's in the past; he doesn't like to dwell on it. And yet his mind betrays him, bringing forth those painful memories, as he's trapped in this land of oppressive, homicidal magic.

He can't risk his pain hurting Koutarou.

So he sleeps fitfully, if he sleeps at all.

He can feel his body growing weaker, especially as they start rationing their food and water.

He wonders if Kuroo feels as hopeless as he does. He _wants_ to believe they'll make it. But as the days blur into nights that blur into days again, he's starting to think they might be stuck in here forever.

"We're getting out of here, right?" he asks one night, huddled beneath his blanket in front of their small fire.

Kuroo looks back at him, the lines of his features seeming more pronounced as the shadows from the fire flicker across his face. He looks older, tired. He sighs, and his eyes are dark, almost black.

"I don't know," he replies honestly.

"Should we give up?" Akaashi asks, knowing Kuroo has to have thought of it same as him.

Kuroo purses his lips, studying him. "Do you _want_ to give up?" he asks.

Akaashi hesitates, shaking his head after a moment. "We've come this far," he says. "Besides, it's not like we'd be able to find our way back anyway." He gives Kuroo a wry smile.

Kuroo laughs, the sound harsh in his dry throat.

They don't pull out the scrying glass. After a while the check-ins have felt . . . stale. There isn't much to report on, and neither Koutarou nor Kenma seem willing to divulge much about their own situation back at the palace. And considering Koutarou admitted to Akaashi that Kenma's been visiting Kuroo in his dreams . . . well, that's better than seeing him through a glass, isn't it?

Akaashi can't help but feel a twinge in his chest, when he thinks about how Kenma visits Kuroo and not him. He knows he wouldn't want Kenma to enter his nightmares either, but the knowledge that Kenma hasn't even _tried_ . . .

"You should sleep," Kuroo says, watching him. "I'll take the first watch."

Akaashi shakes his head. "Kenma usually visits you right before he goes to sleep, doesn't he? You'll miss him if you don't sleep now."

Kuroo regards him skeptically. "You haven't been sleeping," he says. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You're going to make yourself sick, Akaashi."

"I'm fine." Akaashi looks back at him blandly.

Kuroo's eyes narrow. "You look like shit," he says. "And that's saying something."

Akaashi just stares back at him, wondering if Kuroo truly thinks he cares about how he looks right now.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying. It's not like I can really carry you if you pass out on me."

"I'm fine."

Eventually Kuroo gives in and lies down, pulling his blanket closer around him. The way he's laying puts his head right next to Akaashi's thigh. For some reason, his fingers twitch, itching to run through Kuroo's wild hair. It's grown somewhat flat out here in the wilderness with no pillows to squish against either side of his head. It looks softer than it usually does, though also dirtier. They make do with water they can conjure from the air to wash up so they don't stink, but it's a poor substitute for an actual shower and bath.

Still, the proximity makes Akaashi's skin prickle with a sensation he hasn't felt since he first met Koutarou (or Kenma, for that matter). Curling his hand into a fist, Akaashi moves around the fire to sit against the wall, opposite of Kuroo.

His eyelids feel heavy, but he does his best to stay awake. Drawing on his magic, he creates a ball of light, then fire, then water. He pulls pebbles toward him, shifts the wind. He tries his "magic GPS," as Kuroo calls it, but as before it only moves forward, disappearing into the wall in front of him. He can't tell which way it turns after that.

He's not sure how much time has passed when he finally steps over to shake Kuroo's shoulder. The blanket is warm from the fire and Kuroo's body heat. Akaashi has to keep himself from lingering. Kuroo wakes slowly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Mm 'kaashi?"

His voice is thick with sleep; he sounds younger, more vulnerable. Akaashi's chest tightens unexpectedly. He turns his face away.

"Your watch," he murmurs.

Moving back around the fire, he wraps himself up in his blanket and lies down. Koutarou should be asleep by now . . . but even so he dozes fitfully until Kuroo wakes him and they gather up their campsite to leave.

 

 

 

 

The third time Akaashi stumbles, he's unable to catch himself. His legs give out, knees weak, and Kuroo grabs him around the waist instinctively. Akaashi flinches, but Kuroo sets him down against the wall and steps back, seemingly unharmed.

"This is getting ridiculous," Kuroo says, crossing his arms and frowning down at Akaashi.

Akaashi leans his head back against the wall, his breathing shallow. He can tell he's running a fever. He's flushed; his throat raw and his head light.

"You're sick," Kuroo says. "You need _sleep_."

Akaashi shakes his head wearily. _I need to protect Koutarou . . ._

"I'll knock you out if I have to," Kuroo says, his voice tinged with warning.

Akaashi doesn't doubt that he will, but he doesn't have the strength to protest. They're on their last bundle of food. The only reason they're not completely dehydrated is because they're able to conjure water to drink. But as they grow weaker, the amounts of water they can produce grow smaller. Still, Kuroo kneels beside him, hand extended.

Akaashi watches, his mind hazy, as water appears in Kuroo's palm.

"Hold out your hands," he says firmly.

Akaashi isn't sure he can move, but he concentrates and eventually lifts his hands, cupped together. Kuroo carefully pours the water into his palms, and Akaashi brings them to his lips to drink. It's an effort. His head feels heavy, all his limbs feel heavy, and his throat aches as he swallows. Closing his eyes, he sighs, setting his head back against the wall once more.

"I just need to rest for a few minutes," he murmurs. "I'll be fine."

He can feel himself tilting to the side. Kuroo's voice calls to him, sounding far away. He doesn't feel the impact when he hits the ground.

 

 

 

 

He drifts in and out of consciousness. He's vaguely aware of being carried. He's swaddled in a blanket; he can feel the soft material against his skin. It's too hot, but he's too weak to struggle. In the recesses of his mind, he wonders if Kuroo's going to be able to find his way. Will he be able to mark his path while carrying Akaashi?

Guilt settles like a stone in his stomach. He's not worth this care; he's not worth them getting lost further or the risk Kuroo is taking to carry him.

Why is he doing this?

Kuroo mentioned that he cares about him, but can that really be true? Akaashi's used to abandonment. He was surprised when Kenma stuck around after he told him of his curse. He was shocked when Koutarou continued to make an effort to get to know him, even when Akaashi refused to see him and never answered his letters. If his own family couldn't stand to be around him, how is it that these three have decided he's someone they want in their lives?

"Leave me behind," he mumbles at one point. "I'm . . . too much trouble."

"Not a chance," Kuroo says, his chest vibrating with his words. "We've been over this, Akaashi. You're stuck with me."

_But why?_

_I literally destroy everything I touch. We're lost in the middle of this maze because of me. I abandoned Koutarou for selfish reasons. I took Kuroo away from Kenma._

_I don't deserve this much care and attention._

Hot tears spill down his cheeks; he's too weak to stop them.

"Hey, none of that," Kuroo says, and his arms tighten around Akaashi's form. "Don't give up on me now, Akaashi. We're going to find a way out of here. I promise."

_You shouldn't say such things._

Akaashi knows how much Kuroo will blame himself if he fails.

Everything fades once more, and Akaashi finds himself standing in the backyard of his house back in Sendai. There's a young boy with dark curling hair, staring down at something in the grass. His hands are clenched into fists on his thighs, as he kneels in the dirt. There are tearstains on his face, his dark green eyes rimmed red.

Akaashi's chest aches.

"Keiji?"

A woman stands in the doorway of the house, looking out at him in concern. Keiji lifts his head, looking over at his mother with anguish.

"I-I killed it. I killed it. I didn't mean to!"

Akaashi watches the scene with his heart in his throat, a dull familiar ache in his chest. _Go to him,_ he thinks. _Comfort him. He's your son._

But the woman stays in the doorway, her face pale, as she watches Keiji sob into his hands.

"Keiji."

Akaashi turns to see Kenma standing beside him. His blinks slowly at the scene in front of him, before turning his large golden eyes onto Akaashi.

"Is this what you didn't want Koutarou to see?"

Akaashi's too stunned to wonder how Kenma knows Bokuto's given name. "H-How did you get in here?" he asks hoarsely.

He's been so careful. His mental blocks are carefully intact, cultivated over the years until he became an enigma. He built a wall around himself, to protect the outside world as much as to protect himself. He can feel those walls starting to crumble, and it fills him with panic.

He steps between Kenma and the crying boy in front of them, blocking the scene as best he can.

"You're invading my privacy," he says sharply. " _Leave_."

Kenma stares up at him, his expression unchanged. "Koutarou's worried. He thinks you don't want him anymore."

Akaashi frowns. "He should know better than that."

Kenma shrugs. "I'm just telling you what he said. You should go to him."

Akaashi swallows hard past the lump in his throat. It stings, and he winces. "I can't. My magic is too weak."

Kenma studies him for a moment. "Then I'll tell him to come to you."

Akaashi's hands tremble. He hides them in his sleeves, grabbing hold of both elbows and clutching tightly. "He can't see me like this."

Kenma rolls his eyes. "There's no point in being with someone if you don't let them see you at your worst." He narrows his eyes slightly. "Do you think he'll leave you if he does?"

A cold hand grips Akaashi's chest and squeezes. "They left," he says quietly, not needing to look behind him to know the scene has shifted. They're inside the house now, his father and mother standing in the front hall, bags packed.

_"We'll send you money every month for food. Don't worry about paying the bills; we'll take care of that from Tokyo."_

_"Don't let anyone into the house. Keep your gloves on at all times."_

_"Be careful, Keiji. Remember the toad."_

How could he forget? Akaashi closes his eyes slowly, inhaling shakily. "They left," he says again, his voice stronger. "They were my own family, the people who are supposed to love you and stand by you unconditionally, and they left." He opens his eyes again, staring flatly at Kenma. "So why shouldn't I expect the same from others?"

Kenma purses his lips. "Because we're still here. We know about your curse, and we're _still here._ That should mean something."

Akaashi thinks of Koutarou, of how he immediately decided to help Akaashi find a solution to his curse when he first heard about it. He remembers how Kenma continued to visit, his presence a constant that Akaashi clung to, desperately. And even Kuroo . . . he's still here as well, isn't he? Even though Akaashi burned him, nearly killed him twice during the course of this quest, Kuroo is still taking care of him.

At first Akaashi was sure it was only because of Kuroo's love for Kenma that he saved Akaashi's life. But there's nothing about his manner that seems insincere.

"You're right," Akaashi says after a moment. "I'm sorry."

Kenma shakes his head. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Akaashi sighs. Slowly, he lets his hands fall to his sides. "Tell him to come."

Kenma's mouth quirks in a tiny, satisfied smile, and it's only when he's disappeared that Akaashi realizes that he could've touched him.

 _It's better to wait,_ he tells himself, _for it to be real._

 

 

 

 

He's sitting on the bench at the park where they first kissed. The pond in front of him is still, no ducks swimming and begging for food this time. The scene shimmers slightly, evidence of Koutarou's inexperience. He stands in front of him, fidgeting.

"Relax, Koutarou," Akaashi says gently. "I'm not going to yell at you."

Koutarou's shoulders sag with relief. He moves to sit beside Akaashi, rubbing the back of his neck. "You were really angry before," he says. He inhales sharply, looking off toward the pond. "I thought you didn't want to see me anymore."

Akaashi chest feels heavy, as he reaches over to lay his hand on Koutarou's arm. He can't really feel him. He's solid, but the warmth of his skin, the texture of it, is missing. He might as well be touching nothing. Still, he curls his fingers around Koutarou's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Of course I want to see you," he says softly. "You just . . . surprised me. And the nightmare I was having . . . I didn't want you to see me like that."

Koutarou turns back to Akaashi, his golden eyes round and questioning. "Like what?"

Akaashi suppresses a grimace. "Broken. Ugly."

Koutarou shakes his head vigorously. "You're not broken or ugly!"

"You . . . haven't seen my curse in action. It's . . . it's not pretty, Koutarou."

Koutarou turns toward him, moving his hand so that it's clasping Akaashi's tightly. "Okay, but the curse isn't _you_ , Keiji. You wrap yourself up in this curse like you gotta shield yourself from something. It's like you're avoiding forming any real, meaningful relationships and using your curse as an excuse!"

Akaashi frowns. "Excuse me?"

"But you don't have to!" Koutarou hurries to continue. "That's my point. You don't gotta hide yourself from me or anyone else. I love you just the way you are! You should know that."

"My parents left me because of this curse," Akaashi says softly. "I didn't want to lose you too."

"You won't lose me," Koutarou insists. "Never. Even if you never break the curse, I'll still be with you. But you're going to break it, so you don't even have to worry about it anymore!"

Akaashi cringes. "I don't think we are, Kou," he admits. "We're lost in some sort of . . . magical maze. At this rate, I don't think we're ever going to find our way out."

Koutarou's eyes widen further. "Shit, really?! Why didn't you say so?!" He jumps to his feet. "We'll send someone to help you!"

Akaashi shakes his head. "No, you can't. They'll only get lost as well. This place holds powerful magic. It's keeping us from entering Shiratorizawa."

"Then fight it. You have to fight it!"

Turning his gaze toward the pond, Akaashi watches as the scene starts to flicker, as though the connection is weakening. "I'm not sure that I can anymore," he murmurs.

"So what? You're giving up? Keiji? Keiji!"

Akaashi blinks rapidly, as the scene dissolves. He can hear the echo of Koutarou's voice, as he spins through darkness. He's tumbling, head over heels. There's nothing beneath his feet. Panicking, he starts to struggle, but he's weak.

"Shit!" he hears Kuroo's voice, garbled and indistinct. ". . . kaashi! . . . . one help! You! Hey! My friend . . ."

_Friend?_

_friend . . ._

 

 

 

 

"Akaashi?"

Akaashi opens his eyes.

He's lying in a bed, soft comforter tucked around him. He's dressed only in a pair of long jinbei pants, his chest bare. For a moment he panics, wondering who undressed him and if they touched his skin at all. He struggles to sit up, but his limbs feel weak.

"Whoa, hey." Kuroo appears in front of him, hands reaching to push him back onto the bed.

" _D-Don't_ ," Akaashi gasps, his voice strangled.

Kuroo freezes, and Akaashi collapses back onto the bed, panting softly. He doesn't feel as flushed as before, and his throat isn't burning, but he can tell he's not completely well yet. Looking around the room, he finds it unfamiliar. They aren't back in the palace at Karasuno, he can tell that much. This house seems more modern, though not quite twenty-first century.

He licks his lips and finds them cracked, his mouth dry. "Water," he requests softly.

Instantly Kuroo's on his feet. "Shit, right," he says, crossing over to the table beside the bed. It's a small room, enough for a single dresser and bed with the table. A window sits above the dresser, and from the light outside Akaashi guesses it's late afternoon. Kuroo returns, holding out a tin cup of water.

Akaashi sits up again, slower this time, and manages to remain upright. Kuroo adjusts his pillow against the wall, so he can recline against it. He takes the water then with murmured thanks, drinking it down. It's not cold, but it's still refreshing, and when he clears his throat afterward, he finds he can speak easier.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Shiratorizawa, if you can believe that," Kuro says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Akaashi blinks. "Explain."

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck. "Ah, well . . . you passed out, if you remember. I wrapped you in a blanket so I could carry you. You were burning up; I could feel it through the blanket. I was really worried, to be honest." He bites his lip, looking across the room at the door. "You were like that for days. I was stumbling around, no idea where to go, Bo kept trying the scrying glass completely frantic, and then this . . . cat appeared."

Akaashi stares. "A cat."

"I swear, it was the weirdest shit," Kuroo says, turning to look at him. "It just sauntered up to me and started nudging my leg with its head. I thought it was hungry or something, so I gave it some food, and then it took off and I thought . . . 'what if I followed it'? I'm not sure why I thought it'd help, but I was kind of out of options at that point. So I just . . . followed it. And it led me out of the maze and straight to the wall around Shiratorizawa. There was this guard gate . . . I used magic to shield us so nobody could see us sneak in, but that took the rest of my energy." He grimaces.

"I kinda, uh, dropped you."

"You dropped me?" Akaashi looks down at himself, noticing now the bruise on his side.

Kuroo follows his gaze and gives him an apologetic smile. "At least it wasn't on your head, right?"

"You still haven't told me where we are, exactly."

"This guy came to help us. Name's Konoha. This is his place. He works in the palace, actually. As an entertainer. Snake-charming, or dancing, or juggling, or something. Maybe all three? He seems like a kind of jack-of-all-trades."

"What did you just call me?"

Akaashi turns at this new voice to see a young man standing in the doorway, holding a tray of something that smells delicious. His hair is a sandy-brown, and though he's frowning at Kuroo, the instant his eyes meet Akaashi's, his expression softens. He looks down at the tray in his hands, holding it out slightly.

"Uh, I heard voices so I figured you must be awake. I have some ramen here if you're hungry."

Akaashi nods. "That would be wonderful, thank you," he says.

Konoha steps closer, and Akaashi notices he's wearing a yukata similar to the one Kuroo has changed into. He wonders if the jinbei pants he's wearing belongs to Konoha as well. Konoha sets the tray gingerly in Akaashi's lap, as Kuroo stands to move out of the way.

"It's just vegetables and noodles," Konoha says. "I wasn't sure what sort of meat you liked, so . . ."

"It's perfect, thank you again," Akaashi says, picking up the chopsticks and spoon.

"I asked Konoha if he knew anything about this root we're looking for, and he says they grow them at the palace, but they're not really sold anywhere here in the city," Kuroo says, still standing to the side.

"It's called the Silver-Blood root," Konoha says. "The juice inside is silver until it comes in contact with magic. Then it turns into this blood-red color. It can be used in several different types of spells, most of them pretty powerful, so it's not really sold to the general public."

"We need to get that root," Kuroo says, as Akaashi eats. "Is there any way we can get access to it?"

Konoha shrugs. "I might be able to sneak you in with my troupe, but I have no idea where the actual nursery and greenhouses are."

"I'll be able to find it," Akaashi says softly.

Konoha gives him an appraising glance, and Akaashi's reminded once more that he's bare-chested. He fights a blush, as Konoha turns back to Kuroo. "They're having a party at the palace in a few days. Do you have any entertaining skills?"

"I'm devilishly handsome," Kuroo says with a grin.

Konoha snorts. "So am I, but that's not exactly resume material."

"He has demon magic," Akaashi says, ignoring the frown Kuroo gives him. "We can be an act. The Devil and His Master."

"So I guess you'll be the master, huh?" Kuroo asks, narrowing his eyes.

Akaashi stares back at him placidly. "You don't have to go with me if you don't think you can handle a little performance."

"I'll leave it up to you two to figure out the details," Konoha says, holding up his hands. "Just let me know ahead of time and have something prepared just in case. You have three days."

He leaves the room, and Akaashi ignores Kuroo's stare, as he turns back to the food. How long had he gone without eating? A week? It feels like it.

"Do you think I'll have to wear leather spandex?" Kuroo asks.

Akaashi rolls his eyes. "Probably just a black yukata," he says.

"Shame. I'd look good in a skin-tight suit," Kuroo muses aloud.

Akaashi chokes on a piece of broccoli. Kuroo steps toward him, worry flickering across his face, but there's not much he can do. Akaashi coughs until he can feel his airway clear, eyes watering. Kuroo stands there awkwardly, hands halfway lifted toward Akaashi.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Akaashi nods, and Kuroo lowers his hands. There's a soft mew from the doorway, and they both turn to see a black, short-haired cat enter the room. It walks over to Kuroo, rubbing against his leg and purring. Kuroo grins, reaching down to pick up the animal, cradling it against his chest.

"Here he is! This is the little guy that saved us. I have no idea how he got into the maze or how he knew his way out of it, but we sure are grateful, aren't we?" Kuroo says this to the cat, grinning and booping its nose with his own when it lifts its head toward him.

Akaashi's chest aches. "Thank you, Neko-san," he says quietly.

_Soon. I'll be able to get a pet soon. I wonder if Koutarou likes cats . . ._

"Where are my clothes?" Akaashi asks, once he sets aside the tray, which now holds an empty bowl.

"Oh, uh, hanging to dry," Kuroo says, not meeting his gaze. "I did the laundry yesterday after I called Bo to let him know you were okay, so they should be dry by now." The cat wriggles in his arms, and Kuroo lowers it to the ground. It scampers out of the room.

Akaashi blinks at Kuroo. "Did you undress me?" he asks, an uncomfortable prickle of heat traveling up his neck.

Kuroo seems embarrassed as well. "Uh, yeah. I mean, your clothes were soaked through with sweat so . . . don't worry I didn't, uh, I mean . . . Konoha had some gloves that I used, I didn't . . . it was all very clinical, I swear."

Akaashi can't help but smirk faintly at Kuroo's obvious discomfort. "It's fine, Kuroo-san," he says, reminding himself that it's not a big deal. He looks down at his fingers then, as he twists them together in his lap. "I suppose I should thank you . . . for saving my life."

"Hey, what are friends for, right?"

Akaashi looks up at Kuroo, at the crooked smile that tilts his lips, even while his eyes ask a question. _Are we friends?_

He allows a small smile in return. "Right," he agrees.

 

 

***

 

 

"I can assure you that Tobio is perfectly comfortable. No harm has come to him."

Daichi frowns. The faerie in the scrying glass, Ushijima's right hand man Semi Eita, _seems_ sincere, but the fact remains that Shiratorizawa stepped out of line, and Daichi's honestly surprised at how composed Koushi looks, standing beside him. His chin is high, his hazel eyes flashing with warning.

"We sent Tobio, along with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, to negotiate for peace, and you in turn have taken them hostage. Whether or not they've been harmed is not the issue. I want my men returned to me immediately," Koushi says, his voice calm but resonating with steel.

"Ushijima-sama has no problem with doing just that," Semi says, his voice sounding almost bored. "But we both know you have something he wants. Something that he's willing to do anything to obtain. We're offering an alternative to war, you see. Give us the key, and we'll return your men. It's as simple as that."

"And if I refuse?" Koushi asks, posture stiff, hands clenched at his sides.

Semi smiles then, and it's not a pleasant smile. "Young Tobio will remain in our kingdom, and we will go to war. Although no harm will come to him, it's doubtful you'll ever see him again. He's a ward of yours, is he not?"

"I will not stand for this," Koushi says sharply.

"Sugawara-sama, I'm afraid there's nothing you can do to stop it," Semi says. "Except give us the key."

Daichi reaches toward his chest where the pendant lies. It feels warm in his hand, the magic pulsating gently like a heartbeat. He knows they can't hand over the key, but the thought of Kageyama being held hostage makes bile rise in the back of his throat. Koushi's face is pale, his fists trembling. Daichi wants to reach out and take his hand, but with Semi watching he simply lowers his hand to his side.

"Is that all?" Koushi asks.

Semi nods, and Suga terminates the call with a wave of his hand over the glass without another word.

"Don't tell me that was rude, because I don’t care," Koushi says.

Daichi shakes his head. "I wasn't going to say anything."

Koushi sighs, shoulders slumping as he lifts his hands to press his palms into his eyes. Daichi isn't sure what to say or how to comfort him. No matter what they do, it looks as though they'll be entering a war. It's just a matter of if they'll be entering that war with Kageyama or without him.

"It's . . . probably best that he stay there," Koushi says softly after a moment. "If they're telling the truth about not harming him . . ."

"We can't know that for sure," Daichi points out. "And considering they also have Oikawa . . . it doesn't sit well with me. We need to get them back. All of them."

Koushi lowers his hands with a grimace. "We can't risk sending any of our men."

Daichi frowns, knowing that's true. Before he can think of another suggestion, Shimizu enters the room.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she says quietly.

Daichi notices how Koushi slips on his mask, placing a faint, unconcerned smile on his features, as he steps forward to greet his wife. He kisses her cheek gently. "You didn't disturb anything," he tells her. "Did you need something?"

"I'm not sure it's anything of consequence," Shimizu admits. "But Hitoka is rather upset. Apparently young Shouyou is planning to leave us?"

"What?" both Koushi and Daichi ask in unison, staring at her blankly.

Shimizu looks away, one delicate hand lifting to brush her hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid I couldn't get the details from Hitoka. Only that he was packing his things into a knapsack."

"He's going after Kageyama himself," Daichi realizes.

"Daichi!"

"I know, I know." Daichi's already moving toward the door. He leaves swiftly, running down the hall and the staircases to the floor where the wards of the palace sleep. He nearly runs into Hinata Shouyou as he's leaving the room. Stopping abruptly, he crosses his arms over his chest and assumes his sternest expression.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Hinata jumps, startled. His eyes jump around the hall, as he stammers. Finally he squeezes his eyes shut and yells, "IF NOBODY IS GOING TO RESCUE KAGEYAMA THEN I WILL!"

Daichi grimaces, holding out a hand. "No, you won't."

"But—"

"Hinata, _think_. If you go after him, that will be another person Shiratorizawa can hold hostage."

Hinata's mouth drops open. "They're holding him hostage?!"

Daichi realizes he probably could have chosen his words differently. He reaches out to lay steadying hands on Hinata's shoulders. "Listen. I promise we're not going to leave Kageyama in Shiratorizawa. But you can't go running off by yourself. Your magic is strong, but it's not completely tamed. If something were to go wrong, how would you deal with that on your own?"

Hinata deflates, his shoulders sagging beneath Daichi's hands. Daichi pats him before stepping back.

"I know you're worried about him," he says, as gently as he can. "But you have to trust that we're doing everything we can to get him back."

Hinata frowns, lifting his head to stare up at Daichi. "But you're _not_ doing everything you can. If you were, he'd be back already!"

Daichi sighs. "Hinata, it's not that simple. We can't simply march into Shiratorizawa and demand his return."

"Why not?!"

"I'm not going to argue with you," Daichi says sharply. "Just know that there are things at stake here that you don't fully understand. Trust in your king that he's doing what he thinks is best for everyone."

Hinata doesn't look satisfied with this, but he does take off his knapsack, flinging it back into his room. "What am I supposed to do then?" he demands, hands on his hips. "Nothing?!"

"You can continue practicing your magic," Daichi says. "Grow stronger. We might need your help before long."

Hinata perks up at that. "Really? _My_ help?"

Daichi nods. "So you better work hard on taming that magic of yours. Got it?"

"Ossu!"

Hinata rushes off, presumably to start practicing, and Daichi relaxes. He wishes all negotiations were this simple. Running his hand through his hair, he starts back toward Koushi's room, still not entirely sure how to advise him to move forward.

War seems inevitable. And he knows there is no way their small army can stand up against the army of Shiratorizawa. Not without help. And right now, out of the additional help they received only two of the six remain in Karasuno. And one of those two is tainted so badly with demon magic he cannot use his own at great length.

Daichi cringes to think that Bokuto is the only hope they have against Shiratorizawa. The man's moods keep fluctuating. He's grown stronger in his magic, faster than Daichi's ever seen anyone advance, but on the days when his mood drops he's basically useless, unable to conjure even the smallest flame.

He's not entirely sure he wants someone like that leading his men into battle if it came down to it.

"Daichi," Koushi turns to him as he enters the room, his face brighter than when Daichi left. "I think I might've found a solution to our problem!"

"Yeah?" Daichi steps closer, glancing between Koushi and Shimizu.

"We already _have_ men in Shiratorizawa. Kuroo Tetsurou and Akaashi Keiji."

Daichi's immediately skeptical. "Aren't they here for their own agenda? What makes you so sure they'll help us with this?"

Koushi doesn't hesitate. "Because they're good men who will do the right thing if asked."

"That's what you said about Oikawa and Iwaizumi," Daichi points out.

"I stand by that too," Koushi says. "I'm a good judge of character, Daichi, you should know this."

Daichi nods, wondering if this could really work. "I suppose it's worth a shot," he says. "Either way, though, we need to start preparing for war. We have to let the people know about the threat."

Koushi grimaces. "I know," he admits softly. "I just . . . I was hoping I could end this peacefully."

"You know better than anyone that we should hope for the best but prepare for the worst," Daichi says, as carefully as he can.

Koushi shoots him an irritated glance anyway. "I _do_ know that better than anyone," he says.

Shimizu touches his arm gently. "Has your vision changed at all?" she asks.

 _Has he told her the specifics?_ Daichi can't stop the tightening in his chest at the thought.

Koushi shakes his head. "It remains the same," he says. He slaps his palms against his cheeks abruptly, causing both Daichi and Shimizu to start in surprise. "I can't dwell on it! I need to lead my people, take precautions. Daichi, speak to Ennoshita about strengthening the barriers. See if he can convince the border guards to join our side. If we can get the Yamamoto clan on our side that could be the boost we need to even the playing field."

Daichi nods, grateful to be given something to do.

"Kiyoko," Koushi says, turning to the queen. "Do you think you could gather your maidens and strengthen the wards around the palace? We need to ensure that no threat gets inside."

"Of course," Shimizu says, nodding.

"After I get in contact with Kuroo and Akaashi, I'll need to speak with Koutarou. I want him to be by my side during the battle if it comes to it."

Daichi again feels that uncomfortable twinge in his chest. "Koutarou?"

Koushi turns back to him, regret flashing briefly in his eyes. "Daichi . . . you're too valuable to have on the battlefield. You'll be staying here in the palace."

Daichi's already shaking his head. "Like hell I am," he says, frowning. "How am I supposed to protect you if I'm stuck here?"

Shimizu steps back, inclining her head before excusing herself from the room. Daichi steps closer to Koushi, reaching up to hold the side of his face. "You can't expect me to stay here while you're out risking your life. _You_ should be the one to stay here, wear the pendant in my stead. I'll fight."

Koushi gives him a small, sad smile. "You know I can't wear it," he says softly. He reaches up to press his palm against Daichi's chest. "The magic of the portal chose you as its guardian. And if the portal falls into the hands of Shiratorizawa, all is lost."

"And if _you_ fall into the hands of Shiratorizawa? of Ushijima?" Daichi asks, feeling desperation rise into his throat, threatening to choke him.

"I will not beg for mercy for myself," Koushi admits quietly. "I will only ask that he treat my people, _our_ people, with dignity and kindness. But you are not to give him the key. Under any circumstances, no matter what happens to me, do you understand?"

Daichi shakes his head. "You're asking me to do the impossible," he says, and his voice breaks, as his eyes burn.

Koushi gives him another smile, leaning forward to kiss him gently. "I would never ask you to do anything I thought was beyond your capabilities," he says.

"Then you don't understand how much you mean to me," Daichi says sharply. "You don't know how much I love you."

Koushi's eyes shimmer with tears, and Daichi immediately regrets his harsh words. Cursing inwardly, he drops to his knees in front of his king, grabbing Koushi's hands to press them to his forehead.

"Please, Suga . . . Koushi. Don't command me to leave your side. At least, not until we've exhausted every other option. Not unless it's our very last resort."

Koushi sighs. "Our very last resort, then," he agrees with resignation.

Daichi lifts his head to press his lips against the back of Koushi's hands. "Thank you," he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut in relief. "Thank you."

"Get off the floor, Daichi, you look ridiculous," Koushi says then, and the quiet pain in his voice belies the flippancy of his words.

Daichi stands, and Koushi pulls him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his neck. Daichi immediately grabs him close, burying his face in the warm softness of Koushi's neck.

"I love you too," Koushi murmurs into his shoulder.

But the sick feeling of dread doesn't quite leave Daichi's stomach.

 

 

***

 

 

With the news of imminent war, the palace becomes a bustle of activity. Captain Ennoshita has men reinforcing the walls with magic, while the staff of the palace begins setting up refugee camps. Not everyone in Karasuno has a place to evacuate, and most seem to want to stay and fight anyway. But in order to keep their families safe, they begin moving all those too young or too old to fight into the palace courtyard and the extra rooms inside the palace.

Kenma's finding it increasingly more difficult to find places to hide.

His favorite spot in the courtyard is taken by a large tent serving as hotel of sorts. The kitchens are full of cooks and bakers doing their best to produce enough meals for the extra people. A lot of the citizens are bringing their own supplies, but if they have to wait out a long siege, they're going to need a lot more.

So the kitchens are now off-limits as well.

There's the training room, of course, but Shouyou and Koutarou seem to always be there, along with others hoping to hone their skills enough for battle. Sometimes Kenma will join them, but he soon learned that too much use of magic weakens the cage around the demon magic. It seeps out before long, burning through his veins like a stream of fire. So more often than not he's stuck learning through observation. He sits in the corner with spell books he's taken from the library and watches with growing frustration while the others demonstrate the same spells in action.

Koutarou seems excited in his new role as Sugawara-sama's right hand man.

"I'll be fighting alongside him! Guarding his back, like a true warrior!" he exclaims, hands set proudly on his hips. "He thinks I'm powerful enough to stop Ushijima himself!"

"He really said that?" Kenma asks skeptically.

Koutarou lowers his hands to his side. "Well, not exactly," he admits. "But why else would he want me there?"

_To die in place of him._

It's the first thought that comes to his mind, and it makes his stomach drop. He doesn't want to think that of Sugawara, but he can't think of another reason why the king would want a barely trained and inexperienced fighter by his side in a battle against the largest faerie kingdom in the world.

"Don't die," he says abruptly.

Koutarou blinks, his eyes widening. "I wasn't . . . planning on it?"

Kenma purses his lips, moving to stand. He tucks his book under his arm, staring up at Koutarou with such intensity, Koutarou takes a step back.

"If you die, I won't forgive you."

It's close to the same thing he told Kuroo. It's been two months since he saw Kuroo and Keiji in person. Dream walking isn't the same. As close as he holds Kuroo, he can't _feel_ him. He's not truly there. It leaves an ache in his chest when he wakes, and Koutarou's presence soothes it somewhat. Both he and Shouyou have kept Kenma from feeling completely alone, but they're not Kuroo. They're not Keiji.

He feels as though he may have lost them. The last time he spoke to Kuroo they were lost in a maze in Shiratorizawa. He has no idea when they'll be back, if ever. He doesn't want to give up hope, but the thought looms over him like a dark raincloud, and he's unable to shake it.

He doesn't want to lose Koutarou too.

"Ke-Kozume-kun, are you okay?" Koutarou reaches out to touch his shoulder.

Although there are people around, nobody is paying attention to them. Shouyou's so engaged in his current spell, he hasn't even noticed his usual sparring partner has abandoned him for the corner. Kenma takes advantage of this and steps forward, pressing his forehead against Koutarou's chest.

Startled, Koutarou stiffens at first, but then his arms come around to hold Kenma firmly.

"I'm not gonna die," he says quietly, or as quietly as Koutarou can speak. "And . . . Kuroo and Akaashi will be back soon."

Kenma's surprised by his perceptiveness, but maybe he shouldn't be. Koutarou's affinity for magic is stronger than his. Perhaps he can feel things Kenma can only gather from observation.

_Can he sense how helpless I feel?_

"I need you to do something for me," Kenma murmurs.

"Anything," Koutarou says immediately, running his hand over the back of Kenma's head.

Kenma leans back to look up at him. "I need you to help me draw the demon magic out, the way Sugawara-sama did that one time. I don't want it inside me anymore."

Koutarou's eyes widen. "But—"

"I can't . . . I can't _help_ anyone like this," Kenma says, turning his gaze away. He watches Shouyou, how easily he's able to manipulate the elements. His aura glows bright gold, brighter than any aura Kenma's ever seen before. The only aura that's come close to it is Koutarou's. These days, when Kenma looks at his own aura, he can sense the blackness that lies beneath it, held in check only by the magic of the healing stones.

He's weak in this condition. He came here to grow stronger, not weaker. What will happen if Kuroo and Keiji wind up in serious trouble they can't get out of on their own? What will happen when the war starts and Koutarou is sent to the front lines? Will Kenma be expected to stay behind and watch his friends suffer and fight?

Never before has he felt such a conviction to learn and grow in his magic. After what happened at the Hell Mouth, after seeing Kuroo beaten down, knocked unconscious, watching his friends get attacked by those under Oikawa's control, knowing he could do nothing to stop it, Kenma's determined to get stronger.

But how can he do that if he's limited by this stain in his aura?

"I need to get it out of me," Kenma insists, looking back at Koutarou. "Will you help me?"

"You were in so much pain before . . . I don't want to hurt you."

"If you don’t help me I'll figure out a way to do it myself," Kenma says flatly.

Koutarou grimaces. "No, don't do that." He sighs, places his hands on his hips. "You're really stubborn."

Kenma doesn't reply to this, only looks back at Koutarou impassively until he relents with a sigh.

"Okay, okay. What do I need to do?"

 

 

 

 

Kenma sits on the center of his bed, cross-legged, the folds of his yukata fallen around his hips from where he shrugged it off his shoulders. Koutarou's kneeling behind him, spell-book lying open on the sheets beside him. Kenma wraps his hands around his knees and inhales deeply, exhaling slowly. Nausea churns in his stomach, as his chest tightens. He remembers all too well the pain he endured the first time he attempted this. But Sugawara _was_ successful in drawing out a part of the magic.

He's determined to endure the pain if it means he can rid himself of the stain completely.

"Um, maybe you should bite down on something?" Koutarou suggests hesitantly.

Kenma feels stupid, but he picks up his obi and folds it, placing the material between his teeth. He grips his knees again then and nods for Koutarou to start.

"I'm just going to go on record to say that I'm really against this idea."

Kenma huffs.

"Kuroo's going to kill me if he finds out about this."

Kenma takes the obi out of his mouth, turning his head to glare up at Koutarou. "Just do it already."

Koutarou grimaces but nods. Kenma faces forward once more, placing the obi in his mouth and wrapping his hands around his knees.

"Fuck my life," Koutarou mutters, before he places his hand against the top of Kenma's spine, his broad hand covering half the back of his neck.

Kenma shivers at the contact, though Koutarou's hand is warm.

"Oh shit," he says, his voice awed. "I can feel it. It's like . . . a walnut in a bowl of pudding. You know, something hard in a thing that's supposed to be soft and gooey? It's kinda shaped like a walnut too, hard casing around the magic . . ."

"Koutarou," Kenma says, or at least tries to from around the obi.

"Okay, okay." Koutarou inhales sharply. Slowly, he draws his hand away from Kenma's back, reading the spell off the book beside him.

Immediately Kenma has to bite down hard on the obi to stifle the cry of pain. It feels like Koutarou's taken a strip of skin and is slowly pulling it off his back. A sharp throb travels down his spine, causing it to stiffen, as a whimper escapes. Koutarou freezes, releasing the magic. The pain retreats, though the throb is still there, dulled.

"I can't do it; I'm sorry. I just . . . I can't," Koutarou says, his voice breaking.

Kenma spits out the obi, turning to look at him. Koutarou's eyes are wide, glimmering with tears. Guilt stings sharply in his chest, and Kenma rises up on his knees to take Koutarou's face in his hands.

"I _need_ you to do this, Koutarou," he says, as firmly as he can.

"But I'm _hurting_ you," Koutarou says, sounding small and lost. His hands come up to hold Kenma's waist, his palms rough but warm against his bare skin. "I-I care about you, Kenma. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

Kenma shivers, as Koutarou strokes the sides of Kenma's stomach with his thumbs. Closing his eyes, Kenma presses his forehead gently against Koutarou's.

"It's okay," he promises. "You're not hurting me. You're saving me."

Koutarou sniffs softly. "I am?"

Kenma pulls back, nodding. He can't meet Koutarou's gaze, so he looks down at his shoulder instead, biting his lip briefly.

"I can't do this without you," he says, as difficult as it is to admit. "I need you, Koutarou."

For a moment Koutarou says nothing. Then he shudders on a deep exhale, gently setting Kenma back down on the bed. When Kenma looks up at him, he sees determination in Koutarou's eyes, a hardness to his features he's never seen there before. It's almost intimidating. Kenma thinks that if he didn't know how soft Koutarou's heart was he _would_ be intimidated.

"Okay," he says, clearing his throat. "Okay. Turn around."

Kenma does, picking up the obi again and biting down hard. He grabs the sheets beneath him this time, curling his fingers into them, as Koutarou places his hand once more on Kenma's back and begins to the spell.

Pain sparks behind Kenma's eyes. His back arches, as again that sharp throb travels through his body. This time Koutarou doesn't stop, though his voice wavers. Sweat beads at Kenma's temples, as he clenches his teeth around the obi in his mouth. It feels as though Koutarou is flaying him, cutting deep into skin, muscle, and bone, right into his aura. He can feel the slice of the magic, digging into him until it finds the demon magic trapped in its cage.

"I'm going to open the cage now," Koutarou warns him.

Kenma thinks he's prepared, but Koutarou isn't as careful as Sugawara was that first time. He doesn't simply crack open the cage to pull the magic out, he blasts through it completely. The dark magic surges through his aura, burning him like acid from the inside out. He can hear himself screaming, but it doesn't sound like him. His mind splits from his body.

He rises up, watching as though from a vantage point above the bed, as he falls over onto his side, his body convulsing. Koutarou grabs him, wrapping his arms around him. He buries his face in the back of Kenma's head, still speaking the words of the spell through the tears that are streaming down his face. Kenma can see the red magic crackling like lightning just beneath his skin, glowing, pulsating angrily.

It wants to stay. It needs to stay. But why? Why is it a part of him? What _happened_ to him?

The room swirls before him, shifting, changing. He's no longer in the palace at Karasuno. Instead he's in a cave. The walls drip moisture; the only light comes from a ring of candles set up around a pentagram drawn in the dirt. In the orange glow from the flames, Kenma sees himself, standing just outside the circle of candles, dressed in a white robe. Its hood is down, revealing a head of long, black hair.

_That's not me._

_It's Kenta._

In the flickering candlelight, Kenma can see the tearstains on Kenta's face. One hand is bloodied, and as Kenma draws nearer to the scene, he can see blood staining the front of Kenta's yukata as well.

Before he can wonder where the blood came from, there's a crackle of thunder, and a burst of red lightning explodes from the center of the pentagram. Kenma flinches, but Kenta doesn't move. He watches impassively, as a cloud of black smoke appears, writhing and twisting through the air like it's alive.

It takes Kenma a moment to realize that it _is_ alive, and what he's looking at is a demon. Pure demon energy without a corporal form.

"You summoned me?" the words come from the smoke, but it doesn't sound human. It sounds like more than one voice talking at once. Disjointed yet unified. It's disturbing, but Kenta doesn't seem affected by it at all. His voice is calm, his expression flat, as he answers.

"I sent one of your own back to you. Did you receive it?"

"I felt something," the smoke replies. "But it didn't feel like one of us. It felt . . . different."

"That's because it was different. It _is_ different." Kenta's mask cracks just slightly, a flicker of pain crossing his features, before they smooth out once more. "It's bound to a soul. A human one."

"Impossible," the smoke scoffs. "It takes powerful magic to bind a demon's energy to a human soul, and you don't look nearly strong enough to cast such a spell."

Kenta's lips twitch. "I would caution you not to underestimate me."

The smoke doesn't reply, but it seems nervous in the way it coils in the air in front of him.

"I summoned you in order to make a deal," Kenta says then. "This human is strong, stronger than anyone I've ever known. His heart is pure; good. He's going to make it out of Hell, but I know it will take time. Years. Perhaps decades. I might not be here when he returns. But I do not want him to be alone."

"What do you want?" the smoke hisses.

"I want you to take half my aura. I know you can't create life, but you can use your magic to fuse that part of me to a fetus. Keep an eye on the human I sent to you; when you see he's close to escaping, choose a pregnant woman and fuse my aura to her child so that when he's born he'll have my memories of this human. He'll learn about him, how good and kind he is, and he'll fall for him as surely as I did. In this way . . ." here Kenta falters, swallowing hard. "In this way, I can ensure he won't be alone."

The smoke is quiet for a long moment following this request.

"You realize," it drawls then, "that my magic will leave a stain on the child. If he becomes a magic user and grows powerful enough, it'll unlock and try to take over his body."

"If Kuro is with him, he'll be fine," Kenta says softly.

"And what do I receive in return for this request?"

"My magic," Kenta replies immediately. "All of it."

"That will kill you," the smoke says pointedly.

"Not immediately."

"You'll have ten years. Give or take a year or so."

"I'm aware."

Neither Kenta's expression nor his voice changes.

The smoke seems to regard him. "You've been planning this, haven't you?"

"Do we have a deal or not?" Kenta asks, his voice sharp for the first time.

"We do."

Kenta turns then, looking directly at Kenma. Kenma starts in shock, eyes widening, as Kenta's mask cracks once more to reveal the anguish and desperation underneath.

"Take care of him," he whispers.

The ground gives way beneath his feet. Kenma falls with a small cry, tumbling through darkness.

When he opens his eyes, he's lying on his side in his bed, chest heaving. His skin is slick with sweat, and his entire body aches. His head rings with the beginnings of a migraine. Grimacing, he tries to sit up only to find he's trapped beneath a heavy arm. Turning, he looks into Koutarou's worried expression. There are tear tracks on his face, his eyes rimmed red. When he meets Kenma's gaze, he tightens his grip around him.

"I thought you might've died," he croaks. "You got really still . . . you didn't respond to anything. It's like you weren't here anymore."

Kenma blinks back at him.

"I-I only got a little of the magic out," he admits then, gaze lowering to Kenma's shoulder. "More than Sugawara-sama but . . . not all of it. I-I don't think it can be completely removed. It's like it's—"

"A part of me," Kenma finishes softly.

Koutarou's eyes widen, but he nods silently. He pulls Kenma closer to his chest, burying his face in his neck.

"Don't ask me to do that again," he begs. "It was _awful_."

Kenma lifts his hand, fingers trembling as he strokes them through Koutarou's hair slowly. "I won't," he murmurs.

After what he just saw, he knows this method is hopeless.

As long as Kenta is a part of him, the demon magic will remain.

If he wants to rid himself of it, he'll have to rid himself of Kenta.

And he's not entirely sure that's even possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> both Iwaizumi and Oikawa will have POVs next chapter, to make up for the lack of Iwaoi in this one! it was really important that Kenma's POV be in this chapter
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	24. let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this took so long! i didn't have time to thoroughly edit this either, so i apologize for any errors i missed as well /)u(\
> 
> but! i hope the contents of this chapter make up for it XD we enter the home stretch with this one!

 

 

 

 

there is no place like home.

\--l. frank baum, _the wonderful wizard of oz_

* * *

 

 

The first thing Iwaizumi does in an effort to infiltrate King Ushijima's inner circle is request an official tour of the palace. Semi Eita is assigned to this task, which Iwaizumi can tell he thinks is a waste of time. Still, he's polite, as he shows Iwaizumi the sections of the palace he hasn't been allowed to see before, including King Ushijima's personal training room.

It's set up not unlike the public training room, though it's smaller and the walls are lined with better crafted practice weaponry. In the center of the room, fighting with a masked opponent, is a young faerie with dark hair cut in a rather unfortunate-looking bowl shape. His face is scrunched in an expression of intense concentration, and every time he swings his sword he cries out with a loud "HAH!" occasionally interspersed with "TAKE THAT!"

"That's Goshiki Tsutomu, Ushijima-sama's ward and heir to the throne," Semi says, right before he's accosted by a smaller faerie with sandy brown hair. This one grabs Semi's elbow, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Put me on a different assignment. I _beg_ you."

Semi grins. "Come now, Shirabu. He isn't _that_ bad."

Shirabu gives Semi a withering look. "He said just this morning he wants to duel Ushijima-sama to prove he's ready for the throne."

"And?"

Shirabu throws his hands in the air. "And he _isn't_ ready. He's not even _close_ to being ready."

"So tell him that."

"I _do_ , and he pouts for maybe ten minutes, but then he's right back to boasting. He's incorrigible."

"Kenjirou! Watch this move!"

The three of them turn to watch as Goshiki jumps and spins, kicking out his foot, which collides with his opponent's sword. It spins out of the faerie's hands, and as Goshiki lands, he sets his sword point against his opponent's neck.

"Gotcha!" he exclaims, brown eyes gleaming.

He looks over at the spectators then, as though expecting praise. Shirabu crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, but Semi claps politely, and Iwaizumi nods, having to admit to himself it was an impressive move. Semi nudges Shirabu gently.

"He wants your approval," he says quietly. "It won't hurt you to give it every once in a while."

Shirabu sighs, lowering his arms to his sides. "Not bad," he admits grudgingly. "But you're still nowhere near Ushijima-sama's level."

Goshiki sticks out his tongue. "I'll beat him soon enough!"

Semi gestures for Iwaizumi to follow him out of the room. "It is our hope that once we take control of Earth, Goshiki will be able to take care of Shiratorizawa on his own in Ushijima-sama's absence."

Iwaizumi bites back his initial response to that. "I thought all the faeries would be moving to Earth with King Ushijima."

"Most of us will be," Semi says with a nod, leading Iwaizumi down the hall toward a barred door. "But there are women and children and those who will remain here to tend to our resources. When the children are old enough, they will join us on Earth."

He stops in front of the door, placing his hand on it lightly. "I think you and your friend have the wrong idea about us and our plan for your world. Would you like to see first-hand what we have in mind?"

Apprehension tingles in the base of Iwaizumi's skull. Still, this is what he's here for, so he nods.

Semi turns to the door, waving his hand over it. The bars glow briefly with golden light before retracting into the wall. The door swings open, and Semi leads Iwaizumi down a flight of stairs. They wind in a spiral until they stop in front of a second door. He opens this and steps out onto a balcony that overlooks a massive greenhouse.

It's sunken into the earth, walkways and stairs installed into the walls. At ground level, glass panels stand, reaching high into the air before coming to a peak. In the rows of vegetation and flowers below are workers moving back and forth. Overlooking them are faeries in uniform stationed around the walkways.

"Faeries are not perfect creatures, as some lore lead humans to believe," Semi says, laying his hands on the banister of the balcony. His eyes roam over the space below, not focusing on one particular person. Iwaizumi steps up beside him, unable to help but be impressed by the variety of color and plants he sees.

"We have faeries who wish to do harm to others. We have crime as much as any kingdom. But Ushijima-sama is merciful and just. These workers are all criminals." Semi gestures to the faeries below. "Under the guards' mind control, they live here peacefully. They are being rehabilitated as we speak; their memories and personalities are being altered, so that they may return to their families' as better people." Turning, he fixes Iwaizumi with a pointed look

"Something like this could help your world, could it not?"

Iwaizumi squirms slightly under that gaze. "Well, yeah," he has to admit. "But still . . . going into people's heads like that . . . it doesn't seem right."

"If you could turn a murderer into a loving caretaker, wouldn't you?"

Iwaizumi glances down into the greenhouse. "The change is permanent? You haven't had anyone revert back to their original states?"

Semi shakes his head. "Never."

"But it could still happen, right? Then what?"

"We'd repeat the process until it stuck. But it's always stuck. Our faeries are highly trained, and the procedure is intricate and precise."

Iwaizumi crosses his arms over his chest. "It's a nice idea," he admits. "But is it going to stop there? With just the criminals? In my experience, those who gain power are never satisfied with what they have. They always want more. How do I know you guys aren't going to end up doing as Oikawa thinks? Taking over the entire world completely and turning us all into robots?"

"Because that's ridiculous," Semi says with a laugh. "Ushijima-sama isn't interested in taking over the minds of every single person in your world. He just wants to make it a better place, a safe place where we can live without fear of being used and abused as we were in our past."

"Yet he's willing to start a war and kill other faeries to achieve this," Iwaizumi says.

Semi sighs, turning away again. "He'd rather not, but it's a sacrifice he'll have to make." Glancing sidelong at Iwaizumi, he peers at him from beneath shocks of white, black-tipped hair. "You're a Hunter. Don't you kill to protect the people you love?"

"That's different," Iwaizumi snaps. "Demons don't have souls."

"And yet your friend is a demon—"

"Half-demon. He's nothing like the creatures we kill."

Semi turns to face him once more, reaching out to lay his hand lightly on Iwaizumi's arm. He looks into his eyes, his expression solemn. "There is a way for you to help us avoid a war and spare the lives of hundreds."

Iwaizumi shivers, glancing down at the hand, before meeting Semi's gaze skeptically. "How?"

"You can get the pendant from the guardian to open the portal for us."

Iwaizumi blinks. "Sawamura-san isn't going to let me take his pendant."

Semi stares.

Realization dawns on Iwaizumi, and he reels back in horror. "I'm not going to . . . _kill_ Sawamura-san!"

Semi removes his hand from Iwaizumi's arm. "I think your friend put it nicely when he said, 'The needs of the many—'"

"That's from a TV show," Iwaizumi snaps, his heart thudding rapidly against his ribs. "You shouldn't take it that seriously."

"Still, it brings up an important point. It's better for one man to die than for hundreds, don't you agree?"

Iwaizumi's stomach twists, bile rising in his throat. He steps back toward the door, shaking his head. "I'm not a murderer."

Semi narrows his eyes. "So you would rather us go to war."

"No, but what you're asking me to do . . . I'm sorry. I can't." Iwaizumi curls his hands into fists, his blood rushing loudly in his ears.

Semi sighs, resignation falling over his features. "Very well."

He reaches for Iwaizumi's head, too fast for Iwaizumi to move, and for a moment his vision goes dark. When he shakes off the haze, he finds himself standing back in his room. Tooru's in front of him, peering into his face. He has his glamour on, and Iwaizumi blinks back at him.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"You were really spaced out, Iwa-chan!" Tooru chirps. "I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes."

Iwaizumi takes a step back, looking around the room. He frowns. Something's off. Wasn't he taking a tour of the palace with Semi Eita? How did he end up back here?

"I haven't yet found Tobio-chan," Tooru is saying. "But you were right about not all the faeries being able to see through my glamour. I made myself look like that Tendou person, and I think I made a couple of novice guards pee their pants." He laughs but trails off when he notices Iwaizumi isn't listening.

"Iwa-chan." He pokes Iwaizumi's arm hard.

"Shit, ow," Iwaizumi says, rubbing the spot and shying away.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes, as Tooru's eyes narrow. "I'm serious. I was touring the palace with Semi-san, and . . . now I'm here. How did I get here?"

"You walked in the door."

"Obviously, but I don't remember that."

Tooru's eyes narrow further until he's practically squinting. Iwaizumi flicks his nose. Tooru squawks indignantly.

"Stop with the face."

"Did you hit your head on something?" Tooru asks.

"I don't . . . think so?"

Tooru is quiet for a moment, his eyes flashing red. Despite having no access to magic, Iwaizumi can feel the shift in the air around them, as anger settles on Tooru's features. His jaw grows tight, and he grabs Iwaizumi's face with both his hands.

"What the f—"

"Someone's tampered with your memories," Tooru says flatly, all jest gone from his voice.

Iwaizumi grows still. "Mind control?"

"I can't tell. It's a different magic from my own," Tooru says, annoyed. He lowers his hands, brows furrowed. "We need to leave."

Iwaizumi frowns back at him. "We can't leave without Kageyama."

Tooru huffs. "Fine. We'll find Tobio-chan, _then_ we leave. I don't care if we have to travel across the entire forest, but I'm not giving them the chance to mess with your mind."

"I haven't been able to convince them not to go to war yet," Iwaizumi protests.

"We'll talk with Sugawara-sama about that. I'm not going to risk it."

"Fine, fine," Iwaizumi says, putting up his hands. "As soon as we find Kageyama, we're gone."

Tooru nods, apparently satisfied.

 

 

***

 

 

Finding Kageyama proves more difficult than Oikawa first suspected. Despite being able to shift his form into any member of the palace staff to gain access to rooms he would otherwise be barred from, he has no idea where to start in his search. So he simply begins at ground level and works his way up. He doesn't think he'd be taken anywhere outside of the palace, but unless this building has a secret room hidden somewhere, it appears that the young faerie from Karasuno has vanished completely.

However, in Oikawa's mind the boy has taken the backseat in the automobile of his priorities. The magic he felt around Iwaizumi's mind concerns him. Being unfamiliar with faerie magic, he can't be sure what was done to him, but _something_ was done.

And so when he comes across Semi Eita himself in the hallway, he doesn't waste time with pleasantries.

"What did you do to Iwa-chan?" he hisses between his teeth, grabbing Semi Eita's arm and holding him fast.

Semi startles, eyes widening briefly before his face settles into a blank expression. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Don't lie to me!" Oikawa shakes him roughly. "You did something to his mind. I could sense it! What did you do?"

"Hey! Let go of him!"

Oikawa finds himself flying away from Semi as though a giant hand shoved him. He manages to catch himself before hitting the wall, hovering in the air briefly before landing on his feet. He stumbles, but when he steadies he looks up to find Tendou standing in front of Semi, face no longer twisted in a taunting expression. His eyes are serious, his lips curled in a snarl. One hand is lifted before him, a ball of golden light swirling in his palm. His other hand stretches out in front of Semi. A protective stance.

Semi doesn't seem to appreciate the protection, however. "I can deal with this myself, Tendou," he says, sounding exasperated.

Tendou ignores him, eyes fixed on Oikawa. "If you lay another hand on him—"

"He laid a hand on Iwa-chan!" Oikawa snarls, stepping forward, calling forth his sword. It extends from his hand immediately, glowing red and sparking with demon magic. "He did something to his mind, and I demand to know what!"

Tendou glances back at Semi, who stares back at Tendou without changing his expression.

"I did nothing to the human," he says.

Oikawa sees red. He bares his fangs, but the minute he steps forward, Tendou draws a symbol in the air with his magic, and Oikawa is flung backwards again.

"Tendou!" Semi snaps. "Don't harm our guest!"

"He was going to harm _you_!"

"I can take care of this! Go back to your duties!"

Tendou scoffs. "As if you're a better fighter than me."

Oikawa scrambles to his feet, seething. "I know the touch of magic, and Iwa-chan's mind was covered with it! Golden light shifting through like water through a sieve. My magic is red, so I know it wasn't mine."

"Maybe someone else came in contact with him. Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to," Semi says, turning to look at Oikawa with a faint frown. "But I swear to you, I did nothing."

"He said the last thing he remembers is being with you for a tour of the palace," Oikawa says, wondering suddenly if he'd gotten things wrong. He lowers his sword but doesn't draw back his magic. Not yet.

"I did take him for a tour," Semi says with a nod. "But then he said something about Kageyama and left. Perhaps Kageyama altered his memories. Perhaps Kageyama doesn't want to be found."

Oikawa frowns. Is Kageyama even powerful enough to change someone's memories? Why wouldn't he want to be found? Is he running a secret mission for Sugawara?

"Okay, see? That's a perfectly reasonable explanation," Tendou says, clapping his hands. His magic dissipates, and he gives Oikawa a wide, unsettling grin. "You should really go through all the possibilities before accusing people of things, Oikawa-kun~"

Oikawa's frown darkens. He steps back, his sword disappearing as he draws the magic back into his aura. He doesn't trust these faeries. He hasn't from the moment he saw them. But they're right. He _doesn't_ have any evidence to accuse Semi of any wrongdoing. And seeing as Hajime can't remember what happened to him, Oikawa can't say for certain that Semi _did_ do something.

Irritated, Oikawa turns and walks away without a formal farewell. Behind him, he can hear Semi scolding Tendou once more for his interruption. Not sure where to go from here, Oikawa simply returns to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What's wrong with you?" Hajime asks, looking up from where he's stepping out of the bathroom.

"Nothing," Oikawa pouts, not wanting to admit that he went after Semi and get another scolding.

"That's such an obvious lie I'm not even going to pretend that I believe you."

Oikawa flings himself on the bed. "I have no idea where Tobio-chan could be," he says, deciding to go with the secondary source of his frustration. "It's like he's vanished into thin air."

"Okay, I'm pretty sure that's impossible," Hajime says, sitting down next to him. "He has to be _somewhere_."

Before Oikawa can point out that in a magical realm _anything_ is possible, a knock sounds at the door. The two of them exchange a glance, before Hajime stands and makes his way over. Curious, Oikawa hops to his feet and joins him, peering over Hajime's shoulder at the young faerie standing in front of them.

"Shirabu-san?" Hajime says, seeming confused.

Shirabu bows slightly. "Sorry for disturbing you. Tsutomu wanted me to make sure you knew about his party this Friday. He hopes you'll attend. It'll take place in the banquet hall at sundown." He glances over at Oikawa. "You can come too, if you'd like."

"A party?" Oikawa can't help but perk up at those words. It'd be nice to relax and have some fun for once.

"The king won't mind us being there?"

Shirabu shrugs. "He said Tsutomu could invite anyone he wanted." He frowns slightly. "He accommodates him too much."

"It makes sense he'd be fond of the kid if he's his ward," Hajime points out.

Shirabu narrows his eyes. "Right. Well. It'll be a formal affair so. I hope you have better clothes than these." He gives them both a brief onceover, before bowing and turning to walk away down the hall.

"Rude little twerp, isn't he?" Oikawa observes lightly. "How do you know him?"

Hajime closes the door slowly. "I think I met him the other day. On my tour with Semi-san."

"You think?"

Hajime frowns. "I can't quite remember."

"Well, whoever this Tsutomu kid is, I hope he knows how to throw a good party. I haven't been to a party in _ages_." A brief tickle in the back of his mind alerts him to the fact that this may be a trap.

_There's nothing wrong with going to a party to enjoy myself and keeping an eye out for danger at the same time._

Hajime smiles faintly. "Yeah. It's been a while."

"And hey! If they serve alcohol, maybe it'll loosen a few tongues." He widens his eyes pointedly.

Hajime gives his arm a gentle shove. "Just make sure it doesn't loosen _your_ tongue."

Oikawa gasps, affronted. "I can't believe you'd suggest such a thing!"

Hajime laughs, and Oikawa beams at the sound.

_We'll be out of here soon, Hajime. Then you will laugh more. I'll make sure of it._

 

 

 

 

The banquet hall is decked out in maroon and silver. Floating candles hover below the ceiling like stars. Around each pillar of the hall coils ribbons of maroon magic, dripping silver light like tinsel. The center of the hall has been cleared for dancing, the marble floors polished until it reflects those above. Tables line the walls, covered in silver tablecloths with maroon fabric draped over and gathered up in sections to create a swooping pattern across the entire row. On each table are arranged different foods, like paired with like. There's a table for meats, a table for fruits, a table for salads, and two tables for desserts. Servers of all genders carry trays of drinks and appetizers about the room, while a small orchestra plays light, upbeat music on the raised dais where the throne sits.

Ushijima sits cross-legged on an elaborately embroidered pillow, looking over his guests with an unreadable expression.

Oikawa notices him first, as he and Hajime enter the hall.

"He doesn't even look like he's enjoying himself," he murmurs into Hajime's ear.

Hajime doesn't reply, simply makes a noncommittal grunt. Oikawa can tell he's uncomfortable with this setting. They've never been to a party of this caliber before. Everyone is dressed in silk and expensive jewelry. The scent of magic and perfume permeates the air, casting an almost sickly sweet scent over the room.

It's an intimidating atmosphere, but Oikawa's not going to let this deter him from having fun. Who knows when they'll get another opportunity to have fun? Grabbing Hajime's wrist, he pulls him over to the food, thinking that might help with the nerves.

"I feel ridiculous," Hajime mutters, tugging at his obi.

"You look magnificent," Oikawa admonishes, taking a moment to admire his best friend (boyfriend?).

He's wearing a dark red kimono that goes incredibly well with his tan skin. His obi is black, matching the collar of his nagajuban, which is embroidered with crimson leaves. He looks striking, and Oikawa has noticed more than a couple eyes being drawn to him, as they make their way to the tables.

Then again, they might also be looking at Oikawa himself, who cuts a beautiful figure in his own kimono, a light teal color with white obi and collar that complements his fairer skin. He can't help but preen a bit when he notices some eyes on him, ruffling his hair in a casual gesture that has Hajime snorting at him.

"You hoping one of them will ask you to dance?" he mutters, eyes on the platters of meat in front of them.

"I'll refuse them if my Iwa-chan would rather dance with me~" Oikawa says pointedly.

"Like hell I'm dancing."

Pouting, Oikawa pokes Hajime's shoulder. "You should accommodate your boyfriend."

"Like you accommodate me?"

"Are you saying that little thing I did last night wasn't accommodating?" Oikawa asks with a slow smirk, watching as the tips of Hajime's ears glow bright red.

"Shut up," he mutters, grabbing a plate then to pile it with food.

They don't actually see their host until Goshiki Tsutomu hops up onto the dais an hour or so later, flushed and grinning, and spreads his arms wide.

"Attention! Attention everybody!" he shouts, and Ushijima gestures for the orchestra behind him to stop playing. In the silence that follows, all eyes turn toward the dais, where Goshiki fidgets with excitement.

"I have an important announcement to make! The great Konoha Akinori is here to entertain us! And he brought his troupe! So please, everyone, clear a space in the middle for the show!"

Interest piqued, Oikawa moves back with the crowd, glancing toward the double doors as they open slowly, revealing a group of costumed people. At the front walks a man with sand-colored hair, wearing a colorful kosode, hakama, and haori. He strides forward on geta-clad feet, and in the parade that follows him Oikawa spots a familiar face.

"Hey," he says, nudging Hajime to get his attention and nearly causing him to lose his plate of food.

" _What_?"

"That one in the black kimono, with the gloves . . . wasn't he at the Hell Mouth with Kozume-kun?"

Hajime frowns faintly, as he studies the solemn-looking young man walking past them. At his side is a taller figure, also dressed in black, but wearing a mask shaped like a demon's face. The shock of black hair sticking up wildly behind the mask is unmistakable, however.

"It's him," Oikawa hisses, tugging insistently on Hajime's sleeve. "That tall one there. That's the half-demon from the Hell Mouth. The one that helped me fight my father."

"Are you sure? He's wearing a mask," Hajime says skeptically.

Oikawa peers at the man, taking in his gait, the shape of his hands, the slope of his back. He nods.

"I never forget an opponent," he says. "Especially not one like him."

His eyes follow the movement of the man (he remembers now, his name is Kuroo), as he comes to a stop before the dais. Konoha bows to Ushijima and introduces his troupe. As he lists the types of entertainment he's prepared for the king, his ward, and their guests, Oikawa starts inching his way through the crowd, trying to get closer to Kuroo.

_Why is he here? Didn't he go off on some big important mission into the forest? Does he have a different agenda?_

Reaching out with his aura, he nudges Kuroo's lightly. The man stiffens, his head lifting just slightly. Oikawa can't read his expression behind the mask, but he can see his eyes shifting to the side, trying to find where the nudge came from. Konoha steps back and claps his hands, declaring for the first act to begin. Kuroo grabs the sleeve of his companion with the gloves, shifting them toward Oikawa as the group disperses to the sidelines to make room for the first performers. It's a dance using enchanted scarves that move and twirl with the dancers' bodies, eliciting many "oohs" and "ahhs" from the audience.

Oikawa focuses his attention, however, on Kuroo in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he murmurs.

"We're here to rescue you," Kuroo says under his breath.

Oikawa blinks. Well. That's . . . unexpected.

"Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?" he finds himself asking before he can stop himself.

"What?"

Hajime nudges his way over, sans plate. "What's this about a rescue?" he asks, pitching his voice low as well.

"We got a message from Sugawara saying Kageyama is being held hostage here. So we came to get him, and you two, out."

"Good luck with that," Oikawa mutters. "We have no idea where he is."

"Great," Kuroo sighs.

"We're also looking for a root." His companion speaks for the first time, his voice low and melodic. Oikawa blinks at him. Now that he's seeing him up close, he finds himself taken-aback by the man's beauty. A jealous twinge twists in his chest, as he's again reminded that there are people who are naturally beautiful, unlike himself.

"Do you know if there's like . . . a nursery or a greenhouse somewhere around here?" Kuroo asks, glancing between them.

Hajime tilts his head. "Greenhouse . . .?"

"It's a place where people grow plants," the companion says drily.

Hajime frowns, even as Oikawa suppresses a snicker. Kuroo grins outright.

"I know what it is," Hajime says gruffly. "I just . . . I think I remembered something. But I'm not . . . sure . . ."

Oikawa turns to study him. Is this what he saw that he wasn't supposed to have seen? Is this why his memories were taken?

"Did you see a place like that Iwa-chan?" he asks softly.

Hajime stares back at him, bewildered. "I . . . maybe?" he says.

Noticing Kuroo and his companion's curious looks, Oikawa turns to them. "Someone did something to his mind. Made him forget things. I can't get a read on the magic because it's not my kind. Do you think . . ."

The companion steps forward, lifting his gloved hands to hover them on either side of Hajime's temples. Closing his eyes, the man frowns slightly in concentration. Around them, the audience applauds the dancers as their performance comes to an end. Konoha steps forward to announce the next act, and Kuroo's companion bites his lip.

"There's a block here," he murmurs. "And . . . something else. I don't . . . I'm not sure what it is. I think I can lower the block though. Or at least, part of it. This is . . . really powerful magic."

"Are you sure?" Kuroo asks, and Oikawa can hear the concern in his voice. "Don't strain yourself, Akaashi. You're still weak."

Akaashi (finally, a name!) gives Kuroo a withering glance. "Just make sure nobody bothers us," he says flatly. Turning back to Hajime, he gestures toward a pillar. "For privacy."

Hajime nods, and follows Akaashi, leaving Oikawa standing in awkward silence with Kuroo.

"So, um, you look . . . well?" Oikawa tries, unsure of how to proceed. He remembers how he last spoke to Kenma, Kuroo's . . . something, and the uneasiness intensifies.

"You can tell?"

Oikawa hears the smirk behind the mask and huffs. "I was just trying to make small-talk and be polite," he pouts.

Kuroo laughs softly. He pushes the mask up on top of his head. "This was just in case we had to perform," he admits.

Oikawa can see now the bags beneath his eyes, the slight pallor of his skin. He looks exhausted. Oikawa can't help but wonder what exactly he and Akaashi went through to get here. And . . . all for some root?

"I wasn't able to clear everything," Akaashi says, appearing at their side.

"I know where the greenhouse is," Hajime says. He seems somewhat dazed, and Oikawa lays his hand on his arm.

"Are you okay?" He asks, glancing over at Akaashi then. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Akaashi says dismissively, fiddling with his gloves. "But we should go while people are distracted."

Oikawa glances toward the stage, where Goshiki sits on the edge of the dais, kicking his feet and completely enamored by the show. Ushijima sits beside him, his attention also riveted. Together, the four of them slip through the crowd as carefully as possible. For good measure, Oikawa mutters a spell over the group, making them invisible to anyone not looking directly at them. As long as they don’t jostle anyone and draw attention to themselves, they should be fine.

It takes a painstakingly long time, but they manage to make it out of the banquet hall without being spotted, and Hajime leads them through the hallways and staircases, hesitating only a few times, until he comes to a barred door.

"I . . . think it's magic," Hajime admits, frowning at the bars.

"We don't have time to figure it out," Kuroo says, pushing the other three aside. "Sawamura-san is going to open a portal at midnight for ten minutes. That's all the time we have to get through."

He positions his hand in front of the door and mutters a spell. A ball of red light explodes against the metal and wood, but when it dies away the bars and door are still intact.

Kuroo frowns, but Oikawa steps up beside him.

"Maybe together?" he offers.

Kuroo studies him a moment, before placing his hand on Oikawa's shoulder. Oikawa does the same with him, and he can feel the surge of power that rushes through him as their magic combines and strengthens. Together they say the spell, and the red light that fires from their palms is so bright and intense, they're forced look away. The magic explodes, the draft it causes knocking them back a few steps. When the light fades, however, the door is gone.

"Let's hurry," Kuroo says, moving quickly through the door.

Oikawa and the others follow, stepping out onto a balcony that overlooks a gigantic ditch in the ground. Overhead glass panels reveal the night sky above, littered with stars set in constellations Oikawa doesn't recognize. Below are rows upon rows of plants of different sizes, shapes, and colors. A few workers stand in these rows, staring up at the four with dull eyes.

Balconies and stairs line the walls of the ditch, and a few faeries in uniform are running toward them, calling for them to stay where they are. Without a word, Kuroo grabs Akaashi around the waist and jumps over the balcony. It's at least a ten story drop, but he slows himself with magic, landing unharmed.

"Dammit, that was really smooth." Oikawa can't help but sulk, wishing he'd thought of such a move first. He turns to Hajime hopefully, but he's holding up his hand.

"You are not jumping over this thing with me."

"Iwa- _chan_."

"I said, freeze!" The faerie guard closest to them raises his arm, palm pointed outward.

Oikawa steps in front of Hajime, flicking his wrist with a short spell that sends the faerie flying backwards into his fellow guards. He grabs Hajime's hand, then, and pulls him down the winding stairs to the ground. He finds Kuroo and Akaashi desperately searching through the plants, moving quickly down the rows. Akaashi throws a ball of golden light into the air that bobs its way toward the center of the greenhouse. It comes to a halt above a certain gnarled bush, hovering and blinking like a beacon.

Hajime's stopped in front of one of the dazed workers. It takes Oikawa less than a second to recognize the blank eyes of Kageyama Tobio.

"Tobio-chan!" he exclaims, to no response.

"Stop! What are you doing! You're not allowed down there!"

The greenhouse guards are scrambling down the stairs, drawing closer.

"We don't have time to figure out what's wrong with him right now," Oikawa says, quickly putting a spell over the young fae. He slumps, fast asleep, and Hajime catches him before he can hit the ground. Grunting softly, he hoists the boy over his shoulders.

"Kuroo! Akaashi! Do you have your root?"

Kuroo holds up an ugly looking brown thing triumphantly. "Got it!" he shouts.

"Good, then let's get out of here!"

The four (well, five including the unconscious Kageyama) turn toward the stairs, but stop short as they see their way blocked by the guards. They form a barrier between them and their escape. Glancing around, Oikawa looks for another exit. There are holes that look like caves dotting the walls in between the balconies, but if Oikawa were to guess he'd say those were the dwellings of these workers. It's unlikely there'd be exits in those.

"You're not going anywhere," the leader of the guards says, drawing a sword from its scabbard at his side. "Surrender and perhaps Ushijima-sama will be merciful."

Oikawa glances at Kuroo and finds him already looking back at him.

"When did you say this portal was going to open?"

"At midnight."

"Any way he can open it sooner?"

"Hey! Stop chatting and surrender!"

"Hold that thought," Kuroo says, throwing up his hand.

Red light surrounds them, shielding them in a magic bubble. Oikawa looks on, impressed, though Kuroo gives him a weary look.

"It won't last long," he admits. "I'm not at my best right now."

Oikawa steps over, placing his hand on Kuroo's shoulder and giving him a grin and a wink, throwing up his other hand in a peace sign.

"Good thing you have me here then!" he chirps, allowing more of his magic to flow into Kuroo.

Kuroo grins back at him, as Akaashi reaches into his kimono and draws out a scrying glass.

"Sawamura-san!" he says sharply as soon as it's activated. "We need an extraction. Immediately."

Hajime glances toward the faerie guards, who are approaching the red bubble tentatively.

"Got it; honing in on your location."

"Beam us up, Scotty!" Oikawa can't resist calling out, despite their rather dire situation.

Hajime shoots him a glare. "Really? Right now?"

Oikawa just grins back at him. His heart is racing with adrenaline, and if he's honest with himself, he's never felt more alive. His fingers itch to hold a sword. He wants to fight the faeries, to destroy this place that held him and Hajime captive for so long.

"I have to put down the shield for us to enter the portal. As soon as it appears, I'm going to drop it and we all need to run into it as fast as we can. Got it?"

Oikawa nods with the others, despite the disappointment that tugs at his heart. Running away seems cowardly. Shouldn't they fight their way out? But then again . . . he looks over at Hajime carrying Kageyama in a fireman's hold. There's no way Hajime can fight like this, not in this environment, not with these opponents. With no magic and no weapons . . . Oikawa doesn't even want to think about what might happen.

"All right, ready?" Sawamura calls from the glass.

Akaashi glances toward Kuroo.

"Ready!" he shouts.

He drops the shield.

The guards hesitate only briefly before rushing forward. Oikawa leaps toward them with a shout, as a cold wind tugs on his kimono from behind. He doesn't need to glance over his shoulder to know that a portal has opened. He allows his sword to form, grinning at the guards that have frozen in front of him.

"Are you just going to stand there?" he taunts gleefully.

"Oikawa! Let's go!"

The guards exchange uneasy glances.

"Oikawa Tooru."

A commanding voice from above draws the attention of those still gathered there. Ushijima stands at the balcony in front of the destroyed entrance, Tendou and Semi on either side.

"Are you truly willing to fight for a world that despises you? With my help, you won't have to fear. Put aside your insignificant pride and join the cause you know is right." His hands grip the balcony, as he leans forward, his expression shifting just slightly. He looks earnest, and Oikawa realizes he truly believes his plan for Japan and Earth is the right thing to do.

That doesn't make him want to fight him any less, however.

He grits his teeth, taking a step forward. But then a hand at his elbow stalls him. He glances back at Hajime, who meets his gaze squarely.

"Tooru."

It's all he says, but it's enough to pull Oikawa out of his bloodlust. He lowers his sword, allowing it to dissipate. Straightening, he points his finger at Ushijima, staring him down.

"This 'insignificant pride' of mine . . . you better remember it."

He turns, then, and allows Hajime to grab his shoulder, as they jump through the portal together.

 

 

***

 

 

Kuroo wants to cry in relief, as he lands in the soft grass of the Karasuno's palace courtyard. For a moment he simply lays there, nuzzling the sweet smelling dirt.

_[i want to say something degrading right now, but honestly i'm relieved as well]_

Kuroo snorts, before bursting into laughter. Akaashi looks over at him from where he's lying at his side, and when their gazes meet, Akaashi grins.

_Damn, he's beautiful._

"We made it," Kuroo says, his chest light and happy for the first time in a long time.

"Yes," Akaashi says.

"KUROO! AKAASHI!"

Kuroo pushes himself up onto his knees, just in time to get bowled over by Koutarou. He hits the ground with another laugh, wrapping his arms around his friend, crushing the other man to his chest.

"You're back! You made it! You made it back! You're okay!" Koutarou is practically blubbering.

"Of course I am," Kuroo laughs, squeezing him tightly once before pushing him back. "Look who else is back."

Koutarou looks over at Akaashi and leaps to his feet. He picks Akaashi off the ground, holding him close as he spins around and around.

"I missed you sooooooo much! I love you. I love you." He repeats this over and over, peppering Akaashi's face and neck in kisses.

Akaashi laughs, an actual laugh, pure and lovely. Kuroo isn't sure he's ever heard Akaashi laugh out of pure joy and happiness before.

He's so caught up watching the two that he doesn't notice Kenma approach until he's right beside him.

"Don't do that to me," he says coolly, but when Kuroo looks down at him, he sees the flush that's already starting on his cheekbones.

"Can I hug you at least?" Kuroo asks with a crooked smile, aching to hold him. His chest physically hurts at the sight of Kenma standing so close. Although he visited Kuroo in his dreams, briefly yet often, they could never _truly_ touch. Those nights were spent seated side by side, talking mostly about Kuroo and Akaashi's journey, or Kuroo's past, stories Kuroo didn't get a chance to tell Kenma before the world turned upside down.

But despite this closeness, Kuroo's longed for his warmth, for the feel of his skin, the smell of his hair. And so, when Kenma gives a small nod, he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around the young man's smaller frame, pulling him close and burying his nose in the soft, silky hair.

_Fuck. I missed you._

Kenma's arms come up to hold him in return, his fingers curling into the back of Kuroo's kimono. He holds him tightly, pressing his face into Kuroo's chest, and Kuroo feels like crying again. He feels so good. He smells so _good_.

It's like coming home.

The portal behind them spits out three more figures, before closing, interrupting the reunions. Sugawara and Sawamura come racing down the palace steps, hurrying to join them. Kuroo reluctantly pulls away from Kenma, turning to watch Iwaizumi and Oikawa stand unsteadily. Kageyama remains on the ground, still asleep.

Sugawara drops to his knees beside Kageyama, placing his hand on the boy's head. "What happened to him?"

"I put him to sleep. He's been enchanted somehow," Oikawa explains.

Sugawara glances up at him and Iwaizumi and instantly pales.

"I . . . thank you for telling me," he says, his voice suddenly more formal. "Daichi, bring him to the infirmary."

Sawamura hesitates only briefly, no doubt having caught the shift in Sugawara's expression and tone, but he does as he's told.

"It's good to see you four back," he says with a nod, as he lifts Kageyama into his arms.

"Yes, please, go to your rooms and rest," Sugawara says, moving past them.

"Wait, Sugawara-sama," Akaashi says suddenly, stepping out of Koutarou's arms. He bows then quickly. "Forgive me, but . . . we found the root."

Kenma inhales sharply, and Koutarou's eyes widen. Akaashi pulls the root out of his kimono, holding the gnarled, brown thing aloft.

"I was hoping we could perform the spell as soon as we returned."

Sugawara glances between the root and Oikawa and Iwaizumi beyond it. "Yes, we . . . we can tonight. But first I must tend to Tobio. My apologies."

With a short bow, he hurries back into the palace, Sawamura on his heels.

"Well, I don't know about you all," Oikawa says, clapping his hands together. "But I think I'm going to change and take a nap. All that excitement exhausted me." He gives Iwaizumi a look, and Kuroo suspects they're going to do something quite different than napping.

Iwaizumi clasps Kuroo's shoulder in passing. "Thanks for the help," he says genuinely.

"Yeah, don't mention it," Kuroo says, feeling somewhat off-kilter with everything that's happening, and it hasn't escaped his notice that Kenma and Akaashi haven't broken eye contact since he first pulled out the root.

"Hey, hey, hey Akaashi," Koutarou says, stepping up to wrap his arm around Akaashi's waist. "How about we go nap too?" He nuzzles his face into the side of Akaashi's neck. "You look like you could use one."

Akaashi lowers his gaze, smiling gently. "That sounds nice, Bokuto-san," he says quietly, allowing him to lead him away.

That leaves Kuroo standing alone in the courtyard with Kenma, who's now staring at his bare feet. Kuroo hates the awkwardness that he can feel starting to descend, and he rubs the back of his neck.

"Um. To be honest, a nap sounds good to me too. Like, a real nap. Not whatever Oikawa had in mind." His face burns, and he sort of wishes Kenma would say something. "Uh. Do you . . . want to join me?"

Kenma doesn't answer, not exactly. He does, however, worm his hand into Kuroo's, lacing their fingers together and giving his hand a firm squeeze. Warmth blooms in Kuroo's chest, and he can't stop himself from grinning like an idiot, as the two of them make their way back into the palace.

_[is it just me or does he not seem as excited to see you as you are to see him?]_

_Fuck off. Can't you just let me be happy for once?_

"Hey," Kuroo asks anyway, as they reach the door to his room. "You . . . _are_ happy to see me, right?"

Kenma looks up at him blankly and blinks.

"I just . . . I mean, I guess after seeing Bo's . . . you know what, never mind." Kuroo shakes his head, stepping into the room quickly.

Kenma follows him with a faint frown. "You think because I didn't jump you I'm not happy to see you?" he asks, annoyance lacing his tone as the door shuts behind him.

Kuroo cringes. "No, I don't think that. I'm sorry. I know you and Bo have different personalities and that's fine. I mean, I like your personality. You just . . . I don't know. You can seem cold sometimes. It's not always that easy to read you."

"I don't want to be easy to read."

"I know," Kuroo says, sitting on the edge of the bed with a slump. He kicks off his shoes and loosens the obi around his waist. He lost the mask at some point during the flight from Shiratorizawa. "I just . . . it's nice when you let me in to what you're really thinking and feeling. It . . . makes me feel like you trust me."

Kenma studies him a moment. He steps forward until he's standing directly in front of Kuroo. Reaching up, he places his fingers beneath Kuroo's chin, lifting his head to meet his gaze.

"I do trust you," he says softly. "I'm not . . . good with words." He breaks eye-contact, his gaze skittering over Kuroo's face before coming to a stop on his lips.

Kuroo's breath catches in his throat. He closes his eyes, as Kenma leans toward him. When their lips meet, a warm shiver runs down Kuroo's spine. Tentatively, he lifts his hands, setting them on Kenma's waist to draw him closer, before slowly sliding them down to his hips. Kenma lets him. He lets him curl his fingers in. He lets him move his lips, deepening the kiss. He lets him into his mouth, and when Kuroo's tongue meets his, a tremor runs through his form that causes Kuroo to shake as well.

Kenma's mouth is warm and wet, and Kuroo can't help but moan softly as he allows himself to get lost in it. In the slow stroke of his tongue, the faint scrape of his teeth, the way his lips move across his over and over again. Kenma's hand on his chin moves down to hold the side of his neck, while his other shifts into Kuroo's hair, stroking through the strands.

Pleasant tingles prickle over Kuroo's skin at the touch. This is what he's wanted for so long. For so long and now he's here, and Kenma's finally in his arms, not pushing him away, not shying from his touch. His chest _aches_.

"I love you," he breathes into the negative space between them, across Kenma's lips and tongue.

Kenma stills. He doesn't stiffen, but he stops, his hands moving to Kuroo's shoulders. Kuroo squeezes his eyes shut, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

_Fuck. I fucked up. I fucked up again. Shit._

"I know why I look like Kenta and have his memories."

Kuroo opens his eyes. That . . . was not what he was expecting. Kenma's staring down at his chest, teeth grazing over his lower lip.

"What?" Kuroo asks hoarsely.

"I saw what happened. Kenta showed it to me. He made a deal with a demon, right after he . . . killed you." He lifts his gaze, and Kuroo is taken aback by the tenderness in Kenma's eyes. "Can I show you?"

Kuroo's mouth feels dry, but he swallows hard, nodding. Kenma lifts his hands to Kuroo's temples, resting his fingertips against them. He keeps his eyes open, however, and Kuroo feels the surge of magic from him, pushing into his mind. He closes his own eyes, allowing the magic to break through his walls.

He sees Kenta standing before a writhing column of smoke.

He hears him speak, as clear as day, making his request of the demon.

He hears the consequences, the way Kenta unwaveringly agrees to them.

He hears the pain in Kenta's voice as he says, _"In this way, I can ensure he won't be alone."_

The scene fades away, and Kuroo doesn't realize that he's crying until Kenma's thumbs gently wipe away the tears.

"He loved you," Kenma says quietly. "At first I wasn't sure if this meant that what I felt for you was really him or not. But . . . I know myself. I might have his memories, but I don't have his feelings. Like I keep saying, I'm not Kenta."

Kuroo opens his eyes, his vision watery until he blinks and the rest of the tears escape. Kenma's lips quirk slightly.

"The love I feel for you is my own," he says then, finality written in his tone.

Kuroo's heart swells so much it feels like it's about to burst. He can't find words to say, and so he simply wraps his arms around Kenma's waist and presses his face into his chest. Kenma's hands slide up into his hair, holding him close. Bending his head, he places a soft kiss against Kuroo's scalp.

"Thank you," Kuroo gasps finally, trembling all over as he struggles not to break down completely on Kenma. "Thank you."

"Don't be stupid," Kenma mutters, obviously embarrassed.

And Kuroo laughs through his tears.

 

 

 

 

 

"Tobio is resting comfortably. Thankfully the enchantment he was under was only an obedience spell. But I know none of you are here for a progress report on my ward. Akaashi, please step forward."

Kenma grips Kuroo's hand tightly, tensing as he watches Akaashi move toward Sugawara, root in hand. Kuroo gives Kenma's hand a reassuring squeeze, glancing over to where Koutarou stands, arms crossed over his chest. He can't read his friend's expression, unable to tell if Koutarou is happy or not about this development.

"Bokuto, you too," Sugawara prompts.

Koutarou's arms lower to his sides, and he strides forward to stand in front of Akaashi on the other side of Sugawara.

"Hold out your arm," Sugawara prompts.

Koutarou does so, and Sugawara draws his finger over the skin of Koutarou's forearm, making a shallow cut. Koutarou hisses softly, but Sugawara simply moves his arm over the large stone bowl that's sitting on the podium in front of him. A few drops of Koutarou's blood falls into the bowl, and then Sugawara closes up the wound with another pass of his finger. He takes the root from Akaashi then, breaking it in half. Silver liquid spills out of it, gathering in the bowl and mixing with Koutarou's blood.

Sugawara holds his hand out over the bowl then, chanting in a low voice. Kuroo takes a step forward to watch, as the silver begins to change color, thickening and filling the bowl with blood-red liquid. It's only when it threatens to spill over the rim that Sugawara stops chanting and turns to Akaashi.

"It is your curse to break," he prompts quietly.

Akaashi nods. Although he's pale, his expression is resolute. Slowly, he pulls off his gloves, tucking them into his yukata, before he dips both hands into the liquid. Koutarou makes a face.

"Ew, gross."

Akaashi doesn't flinch, his eyes fixed on the bowl and his hands submerged in the red liquid. He starts speaking, slow and clear, a language Kuroo doesn't understand. It doesn't sound like any magic he knows. He shifts into his demon vision, and watches Akaashi's aura manifest itself, coating his body like a second skin. Kuroo watches as the blackness that permeated it begins to move, shifting from his chest and traveling up into his shoulders, down his arms, and into his hands to flow into the liquid. The red turns black like tar, but it leaves Akaashi's aura glowing bright gold.

He pulls his hands out of the bowl.

"It's done," he says softly, looking down at his hands almost as though he can't quite believe it.

"Are you sure?" Koutarou asks. "Wait! We should check!" He reaches out to grab Akaashi's hands, despite the black liquid still dripping off them.

"Bokuto-san, you could always touch me," Akaashi says pointedly.

"Oh, yeah . . ."

Kenma hurries forward, but at a panicked look from Akaashi, Kuroo grabs his arm, stopping him.

"I'll do it," he says, stepping toward the other man.

Akaashi looks back at him gratefully, though his twisting fingers reveal his anxiety. Kuroo gives him a crooked grin.

"Relax," he says. "You won't hurt me."

"You sound so sure of that," Akaashi says, voice wavering just slightly.

"Just trust me."

Kuroo lifts his hands, but instead of taking Akaashi's, he grows bold and reaches for the young man's face. He flinches, but Kuroo simply lays his hands on either side of Akaashi's head and pulls him closer in order to rest his forehead against his.

"Hello," he says, smirking faintly.

Akaashi's eyes widen. Slowly, he lifts his hands, covering Kuroo's.

"You're touching me," he says quietly, wondrously.

"I know," Kuroo grins.

"I . . . I'm touching you."

"I know, I know." Kuroo laughs, pulling away then and stepping to the side.

Akaashi's gaze falls on Kenma, who's watching everything, his large eyes growing even larger. Kuroo nudges Akaashi gently.

"Well? Go on, then."

Akaashi steps forward hesitantly, but Kenma makes up for his apprehension. He rushes forward, seeming to fly across the room into Akaashi's arms. They grip each other tightly, auras sparkling, practically dancing. Kuroo bites his lip, but finds he can't look away, or even stop smiling, as Akaashi moves his hands to take Kenma's face between them. They look at each other a moment, eyes shining, before meeting in the most tender yet passionate kiss Kuroo's ever seen.

Koutarou drapes himself over Kuroo with a sigh. "I guess that's that then," he says morosely.

Kuroo reaches up to flick his nose. "Let them have their moment. They've earned it."

Koutarou wrinkles his nose. "I guess." He pauses before mumbling into Kuroo's shoulder, "Kenma's not that bad."

"Oho? Kenma, huh?"

Koutarou buries his face further, flushing faintly. "Yeah."

Akaashi and Kenma part slowly, breathless and smiling, and Kuroo shrugs Koutarou off in order to approach them. He holds his hand out to Akaashi then.

"Congratulations, Akaashi," he says, genuinely. "I'm happy for you. Both of you. Really, I am."

"I know," Akaashi says, taking his hand. "And please, call me Keiji."

Kuroo can't help but smile at that. "Nice to meet you, Keiji. I'm Tetsurou."

"Group hug!" Koutarou calls out, wrapping his arms around the three of them as best he can.

Akaashi—no, _Keiji_ —laughs. Kenma smiles, and Kuroo realizes that his heart really isn't clouded by jealous or concern over where he stands with any of these three. His heart is full and happy.

He's with family.

"Well!" Sugawara says, slapping Kuroo on the back hard enough to wind him.

_Oh yeah, he's still here._

"I think this calls for a celebration!" Sugawara beams at them all. "I've already set it all up, so just follow me to the courtyard!"

"WHOO! YEAH! A PARTY!" Koutarou crows happily. "Come on, Keiji! Let's hurry before all the good treats are gone!"

Grabbing Keiji's hand, he practically skips out of the room after Sugawara. Kuroo looks down at Kenma, holding out his hand.

"Want to see if there's any apple pie?"

Kenma smiles again and takes his hand, lacing his fingers through Kuroo's. He gives it a slight tug then, and Kuroo bends slightly in order for Kenma to reach his ear.

"I'll kiss you better than that afterwards," he murmurs.

Kuroo's ears burn, and he leaves the room with a spring in his step that makes him feel like he's nineteen years old again with the love of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	25. red like roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was really hoping to break 200k with this chapter but . . . oh well XD
> 
> sorry for the long wait! a lot of . . . intense stuff happens in this chapter so it was a little difficult to write >.>
> 
> (please remember there will be a happy ending for all~)

 

 

 

 

i wanna tell you that you're all that ever mattered  
want you to know that for eternity i'm shattered  
i tried so hard just to protect you but i failed to  
and in a prison of abandonment i've jailed you

\--sandy lee casey, "red like roses, part II"  
by jeff williams, _rwby_

* * *

 

 

 

Although his stomach rumbles for the satisfaction of apple pie, Kenma's face is stained with black goop from Keiji's hands, and none of them are suitably dressed for a party. So while Koutarou and Keiji go into their room to change, Kenma follows Kuroo into his to use his washroom to rinse his face while Kuroo changes. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at this, and Kenma knows he could rinse off in his own room, but the fact of the matter is he doesn't really want to be separated from Kuroo again, even to simply step across the hall.

It feels silly, but it's been over two months since Kenma had Kuroo in the same room with him, and if Kuroo doesn't mind he's going to take advantage of his return to the fullest extent.

As Kenma splashes his face with cold water and rubs his skin clean with the washcloth by the basin, he remembers how Kuroo doubted his excitement to see him again. His chest stings, and he stares at himself in the mirror that hangs on the wall. He tries smiling, but it feels unnatural when there's nothing to smile at.

He wonders if Kenta was better at showing his emotions and sighs, trying to push it to the back of his mind. Stepping out of the washroom, he blinks when he sees Kuroo standing in front of the wardrobe, naked aside from the rokushaku fundoshi he's wearing as underwear. Biting his lip, Kenma studies the muscles of Kuroo's back, ass, and thighs, the way they shift beneath his skin, firm and strong. He's seen Kuroo naked before, of course. In his dreams/visions from Kenta, and that one time Kuroo saved him from the demon that looked like Lev. But he's never really taken a moment to stop and appreciate his form in person.

He really is attractive.

Feeling a little mischievous, Kenma reaches out with his aura, brushing just slightly it against Kuroo's. He watches, fighting a smirk, as Kuroo stiffens, his head lifting. He turns around, sees Kenma, and nearly sends himself _and_ the wardrobe to the floor in his haste to grab the door and shield himself with it.

"Kenma!"

Kenma snickers. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before," he points out, stepping closer.

A blush quickly travels over Kuroo's face and neck. Kenma follows its journey, pausing when he notices the red ribbon around Kuroo's neck. Disregarding Kuroo's yelp of embarrassment, he strides forward and grabs the wardrobe door, yanking it out of Kuroo's hand and shutting it firmly. He stares at the amber stone resting against Kuroo's sternum, lifting his eyes then to look up at Kuroo.

"You turned it into a necklace," he says, knowing he's stating the obvious but he's not sure what his heart is doing. It's pounding really quickly and it seems to be everywhere, in his ears, in his throat, in his stomach . . .

 _The stone is the same color as my eyes . . . or is it for Kenta's eyes?_ The thought turns bitter in his mind.

Kuroo looks even more flustered, as he quickly pulls a dark red kimono on, folding it quickly against his body.

"It's nothing," he says, too casually. "You didn't want the ribbon, so I figured I could use it for something else."

Kenma frowns, remembering that night with a painful twist in his gut. He crosses his arms over his stomach. "If that's all there is to it why are you acting so weird?"

Kuroo sighs, picking up a black obi and tying it around his waist. "I was going to wait to tell you. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

Kenma's heart sinks further. "Why? Did you get it because of Kenta?"

Kuroo blinks, his eyes widening slightly. "No. I got it because of you."

Kenma's heart stutters before quickening its pace. He can feel his cheeks warming, and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair, scowling at the floor.

"Stupid," he mutters. "I'm fine with that."

"Well . . . when I got it I still didn’t know how you felt about me, not exactly. I mean, I knew you liked me, but I wasn't sure how much, and I thought you'd get, I don't know, weirded out if you knew I used the ribbon like this." Kuroo runs his hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck then. "I guess it is kind of stupid now."

Kenma reaches out hesitantly, touching the stone that lies against Kuroo's chest between the folds of his kimono. It's smooth and warm under his fingertips, and he bites his lip, his heart fluttering pathetically.

"You really got this because of me?" he asks softly, wanting to believe that but unable to quiet the small whisper of doubt at the back of his mind.

Kuroo takes his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss his fingers gently. "You said earlier that you trusted me, so please trust me when I say that I'm completely in love with you, Kenma. I love you. The whole time I was gone, I couldn't stop thinking of you, wanting to be with you."

Kenma swallows hard, thinking of Kenta and the demon and the way Kuroo had cried when he realized what Kenta had done for him. "Kenta . . ."

Kuroo shakes his head. "Kenta will always be a part of me, I can't deny that. But he's my past." His other hand moves toward Kenma's face, ghosting fingertips against Kenma's cheek, as he brushes his hair behind his ear.

Kenma shivers at the touch, an ache growing in his chest.

"I'd like you to be my future," Kuroo says then with a small, crooked smile.

Kenma almost laughs, partly because the line is so cheesy, and partly out of simple, joyful relief. But because that would be embarrassing, he instead grabs the ribbon with his free hand and tugs Kuroo down to him, as he rises on his toes to meet him halfway in a kiss.

It's different from kissing Keiji. He noticed that earlier, as he and Keiji came together finally after so much time lingering on that edge. There was relief and pleasure, to be sure, but it didn't ignite Kenma's veins as much as he thought it would, as much as it might have three years ago. Or even three months ago.

But this, kissing Kuroo, curling the fingers of his free hand into the front of his kimono and feeling Kuroo's arms wrap around his waist, this burns through him like fire. Ever since he realized how he truly feels about Kuroo, he's been longing for him. He wants him close, to stay by his side always.

He never wants Kuroo to leave him again.

Backing up towards the bed, he pulls Kuroo along with him. Kuroo follows, steps stumbling slightly as he tries not to break the kiss. Their lips slide over one another heatedly, hungrily. Kenma manages to get Kuroo's lower lip between his teeth and he sucks on it, as Kuroo moans. The edge of the bed hits the back of Kenma's legs, and he falls onto it, pulling Kuroo down on top of him.

This breaks the kiss, as Kuroo hastens to catch himself on his hands so he doesn't land on top of Kenma. He takes a moment to look down at him, breathing heavily, and Kenma bites back a grin, as he meets his gaze.

"I love you," Kuroo says, with such sincerity that Kenma feels his eyes burn slightly. He reaches behind Kuroo's head and pulls him down into another kiss.

This one is gentler, more patient. Kuroo presses against him lightly, one hand moving to smooth back his hair from his face. Kenma's heart pounds wildly in his ears, as he starts gathering his aura. Very carefully, he pushes outward, allowing his aura to shift and move against Kuroo's. He feels Kuroo's sharp intake of breath, as it strokes down his body.

_Please work. Please work._

Kenma's never tried bonding auras with anyone. He's not entirely sure how it works. But he keeps pressing, the golden glow emanating from him, engulfing them.

"Kenma," Kuroo breathes, and Kenma starts to feel the pressure of Kuroo's own aura.

For a moment it seems like it's going to work. He can feel the pulse of Kuroo's aura beating faster to meet his, but the rhythm is still off. And then . . .

"Ow!" Kenma yelps, as a sharp sting slices through his aura, breaking his hold on his magic. He opens his eyes, and he can see Kuroo's aura briefly, blood red and swirling with black, before it disappears just like his, and Kuroo sits up quickly.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he gasps, eyes wide.

Kenma frowns, propping himself up on his elbows. "What's wrong with your aura?" he asks. "Why does it look like that?"

Kuroo looks stricken. "I-I don't know."

Kenma sits up all the way, rubbing at his chest where he can still feel remnants of pain. Kuroo moves off him quickly, standing and adjusting his kimono back into place.

"We should probably get going . . ." he says, looking away.

Kenma pushes down his disappointment, knowing the others are waiting for them. Sliding off the bed, he crosses over to the wardrobe to pull down a kimono for himself. As he strips off his yukata to change, he can see Kuroo turning away out of the corner of his eye. For some reason this bothers him, but he tries not to dwell on it. He doesn't like people watching while he changes anyway.

"Okay," he says once he's dressed in a white kimono with a dark red hakama. "I'm ready."

Kuroo turns back around and his expression shifts into one Kenma's never seen before. Kenma scrunches his nose, fidgeting with the sleeves of his kimono.

"What?" he asks flatly.

Kuroo shakes his head, grinning slowly. "Nothing." He steps forward, taking Kenma's hand and lifting it to kiss the back of it. He grins over the top of it, dark gold eyes glistening. "You're beautiful."

Kenma feels his face grow warm, and he snatches his hand away. "Shut up," he mutters, stepping past Kuroo toward the doors.

Kuroo laughs and follows him, grabbing his hand again. This time he simply holds it, lacing his fingers through Kenma's. Kenma lets him, happiness spreading through his chest.

They can figure out what happened with their auras later. Tonight is for celebration.

Kuroo and Keiji are home. That's all that matters now.

 

 

 

 

 

The courtyard outside the palace has been completely transformed. Spherical golden lanterns hover in the air in clusters scattered throughout the courtyard, shedding light on those gathered. Tiny lights sparkle in the topiary trees and bushes and flowers, and the fountains are coated in a glitter-like substance.

There are tables set up in a wide circle, piled high with all kinds of meats, vegetables, fruits, and desserts. Cushions are set up around these tables, and there are faeries seated and conversing as well as moving between tables to grab food and talk with others. Behind the main area is a group of musicians playing a bright, fast-paced melody that has already inspired a large number of faeries to dance. Kenma can see Shouyou leaping and twirling in the center of the circle with Yachi Hitoka and Yamaguchi Tadashi, the three of them joining hands and releasing them in a rather complicated routine that they must have rehearsed beforehand.

Standing just outside the group of dancers, Tsukishima Kei stands with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Yamaguchi with pursed lips. Beside him, Kageyama Tobio looks as though he's attempting to dance, but his movements are subtle and obviously uncoordinated.

Suga is dancing with Shimizu the two of them smiling happily, while Sawamura watches from the opposite side of Tsukishima, clapping along with the music and grinning whenever Suga sends a particularly bright smile his way.

"Dance with us, Daichi!" he calls, and Kenma can hear him over the noise of the celebration.

Sawamura laughs but shakes his head, holding up his hand. "I'm not drunk enough for that yet," he says.

"Then drink more! Asahi!"

The large bodyguard startles, looking away from where Shimizu's two bodyguards are performing what could only be described as a form of magical breakdancing, complete with spinning on their heads faster than Kenma can keep track.

"Make yourself useful and get this old stick in the mud some wine!"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"HEY HEY HEY!

Kenma startles, as Koutarou suddenly appears in front of them. He's grinning widely, and from the flush already high on his cheeks, it's obvious he's already started drinking.

"It took you long enough! Got a little side-tracked, I bet, huh?" he tries to wink at Kuroo, but he ends up just blinking both eyes.

Kuroo smirks. "Helped yourself to the wine already, I see."

"It's so good!" Koutarou crows. "And we can have as much as we want! All this is for you and Keiji 'cause you brought their guardian-in-training back safely."

"There's still going to be a war though," Kenma says softly. "Bringing back Kageyama doesn't change that . . ."

Koutarou makes a face. "Don't be a party-pooper, Kenma-kun. Suga knows that! But he knows how to have fun and make his people happy too! So come on!" He grabs both his and Kuroo's hands, pulling them down into the revelry.

Kenma can't help but feel as though this might be just a cover, a way to distract everyone from the very real danger lurking around the corner. But he pushes that thought aside for now, allowing himself to be dragged into the crowd of people.

Koutarou leads them over to a table where Keiji's already seated; the plate in front of him piled high with delicious looking food. Further down the table sits Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and the two of them exchange nods with Kuroo as they sit. Kenma's glad he's placed between Keiji and Kuroo, still not entirely comfortable around Oikawa after what happened last time they spoke.

Koutarou settles down on the other side of Keiji, beaming happily at all the dancing and laughter that surrounds them.

"I want to dance!" he exclaims suddenly, hopping back to his feet. "Keiji, dance with me!"

"I'm eating, Koutarou," Keiji says pointedly, a drumstick in one hand and a roll of bread in the other.

"Tetsu!"

"Hah?!" Kuroo looks up, his cheeks puffed out as he'd been stuffing them full of grapes.

Koutarou shakes his hand at him, and Kuroo grins. He finishes chewing as he stands, ruffling Kenma's hair gently.

"I'll be right back," he says, taking Koutarou's hand and allowing him to pull them both into the dizzying mass of dancers.

Kenma watches, as Koutarou spins and dips and lifts Kuroo, while the latter can barely move from laughing.

 _I've never seen him laugh so much . . ._ He looks so genuinely _happy_ , something Kenma used to fear he might never be.

He remembers that first night he allowed Kuroo inside his house (in human form at least), when he asked him about his happiness.

_"Meeting Bo has helped."_

There's evidence of that right in front of him.

_"Meeting you has helped too."_

That evidence . . . Kenma bites his lip, flushing slightly as he remembers the kiss they shared in the room just before coming out here. Back then he was curious to know if he could help Kuroo overcome his grief and his loss, and now it truly feels as though he has helped.

That pleases him.

He feels a soft touch to the back of his hand and it takes a moment for him to register that it's Keiji touching him.

Keiji's touching him.

He bites back a grin, as he turns his hand over, allowing Keiji to slide his fingers across his palm in order to lace them through Kenma's. Kenma squeezes his hand gently, glancing over at him.

"I'd like to dance with you, if you will allow it," Keiji says quietly, and Kenma realizes that Keiji's plate is suddenly empty.

He's only eaten a little so far, but he doesn't want to let go of Keiji's hand, so he nods. Keiji stands, pulling Kenma up beside him, and he leads him to the edge of the dancing group. He twirls him slowly, bringing him close, then, in order to wrap his other arm around Kenma's waist. Kenma grins faintly, leaning up on his toes to kiss Keiji's cheek.

Keiji's eyes widen before he smiles, and he spins Kenma out once more. He dances more traditionally than Koutarou and Kuroo, but he moves gracefully to the music and pulls Kenma along with him. He keeps a firm hold of his hand the entire time, until their routine is broken by Koutarou sneaking up behind them and grabbing Keiji around the waist. He lifts him off his feet, spinning him around while Keiji yelps, startled.

Kenma fights a laugh, as he steps back, hitting someone's chest. He tilts his chin back to find himself looking up into Kuroo's familiar crooked grin.

"Can we butt in?" he asks, his arm already encircling Kenma's waist.

"Doesn't look like we have much choice in the matter," Kenma says pointedly.

Koutarou sets Keiji down, grinning breathlessly, and Keiji shakes his head at him. "You're ridiculous," he says, but he's smiling, too.

"Come on! Let's all dance together!" Koutarou cries, grabbing Kenma's hand and yanking him closer.

Kenma stumbles, but Kuroo catches his elbow to steady him. He slides his hand down to grab his, and Kenma holds it tightly. Koutarou nods at Keiji. "Your turn."

Keiji and Kuroo exchange a glance, before Keiji sighs and holds out his hand. Kuroo takes it with a smirk.

"You know you love me," he says.

"Do I?" Keiji asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No bickering! We're celebrating!" Koutarou shouts, and he starts skipping, pulling them along in the circle. Kenma stumbles again, but he manages to remain upright himself, moving his feet faster to keep up. The people around them become a blur, the lanterns merging into circular beams of light surrounding them.

Kuroo is singing along with the music, making up words to rhyme when he can't think of real ones, and Koutarou is laughing, his face bright, eyes shining. Keiji is smiling, his dark eyes sparkling, looking happier than Kenma's ever seen him.

And Kenma feels his chest tighten, the wind knocked out of him, as he realizes just how much he loves them. All of them. Even Koutarou, the big idiot.

He stops abruptly, bringing everyone to a halt. They jostle into one another, into him, but he remains still, waiting until they've gathered themselves and look at him.

"I'm happy," he declares, tightening his grip on Kuroo and Koutarou's hands.

Kuroo grins back at him. "I'm happy too," he says.

"I feel fucking incredible!" Koutarou crows. "HEY HEY HEY!"

Keiji shakes his head slightly, but he's still smiling. "I'm glad, Kenma-kun."

"You're happy too, right? You're all happy now."

Keiji nods.

Kenma sighs, smiling then himself. "Good."

"Man, I love you all so much! Like, so much! I wanna kiss all of you!" Koutarou grabs Keiji's face, planting a kiss on his lips. He grabs Kuroo's next to do the same, though it's mostly teeth considering Kuroo can't stop grinning. When he reaches Kenma, though, he hesitates, sober enough to realize he could very well lose a limb if he isn't careful.

Kenma sighs, gesturing for him to continue. "It's fine," he says. "But only one."

Koutarou brightens, and he takes Kenma's face with surprising gentleness to place a small, soft kiss on his lips. It's over in a second, and Kenma decides it wasn't that bad.

"Now you two!" Koutarou cries, turning toward Keiji and Kuroo. Their smiles vanish as they jump in surprise.

"What?" Kuroo asks blankly.

"Well! We've all kissed each other now, except for you two. Come on, you gotta do it. It'll seal the pact!"

"What pact?"

"You know!" Koutarou waves his arms, gesturing between the four of them. "This pact! We're, like, a team. A super awesome unbreakable team! But we all gotta be together on this, so you gotta seal it. Come on, I know you don't really hate each other. There's no way!"

Kuroo shakes his head, but he seems amused. He turns to Keiji, offering his hand. "Well, you heard the man. We have to seal the pact."

"This will be the only time I will let your lips come anywhere near me, Kuroo-san," Keiji says, even as he takes Kuroo's hand and allows himself to be drawn into Kuroo's chest.

Kenma bites his lip, not entirely sure what his stomach is doing, as he watches Kuroo lift his free hand to cup Keiji's face gently. Kenma finds himself leaning forward slightly, gaze fixed, as the two come together in a simple, chaste kiss that lasts barely a second.

"Aww, that was barely anything!" Koutarou pouts. Kenma's surprised to find himself somewhat disappointed as well.

Kuroo grabs him around the neck and ruffles his hair. "I'm not making out with your boyfriend so you can get your rocks off, dude," he growls, though he doesn't seem truly angry.

Koutarou manages to slip out from under his arm, fixing his hair as best he can. "But this means we're all together, right? I mean, we're a team. We care about each other and we're always going to look out for each other and be there for each other, right?"

Keiji and Kuroo exchange another look.

"Of course, Koutarou," Keiji says, stepping over to take his boyfriend's hand.

"Always," Kuroo says, wrapping his arm around Kenma's waist and pulling him close. He holds his hand out in a fist toward Koutarou, and the other man grins, tapping his fist against Kuroo's.

Winded and dehydrated, the four return to the table. "You could have extended that kiss if you wanted," Kenma says absently, as they sit. "I wouldn't have minded."

Kuroo blinks at him before laughing. "Ohoho, did that turn you on too?" he teases with a smirk.

Kenma scowls. "No," he says flatly, turning his gaze to the table. "It was just . . . interesting."

"I'm perfectly content with what I have," Kuroo says, wrapping his arm around Kenma once more. He kisses the top of his head briefly. "That's okay, right?"

"Yes," Kenma says, warmth filling him at the admission.

"Good." Kuroo bends his head, speaking softly into his ear. "Because as nice as Keiji's lips are, yours are my favorite."

Kenma slams his forehead against the table, fighting the furious blush that's starting to travel over his neck and face. Kuroo laughs until Kenma sits up and grabs the nearest piece of fruit to shove it into his mouth.

The party continues, and Kenma finally has time to eat while Kuroo goes over the tale of his and Keiji's adventure. After a while a group of younger faeries gather, all riveted on the story. Shouyou and Kageyama even join, and Kenma notes that Shouyou sticks closer to Kageyama than he ever has in the past, and Kageyama doesn't even try to shove him away.

Interesting.

Kuroo's just getting to the part where he and Keiji had to come up with a routine just in case they needed to perform with Konoha's troupe, when a familiar (and in Kenma's opinion, unwanted) voice cuts in.

"Has anyone seen Iwa-chan?"

 

 

***

 

 

Daichi isn't exactly a party person. It's one of the things Koushi likes to tease him about, calling him "old man" and a "stick in the mud." But Daichi's never really been one to enjoy large parties with the loud music and flowing of wine. He prefers to keep a clear head, knowing that in times like these when people let their guard down, it's easiest to execute an attack.

So once he sees Koushi is happy and safe with his queen among his bodyguards, he slips away to walk along the perimeter walls, checking in with the guard tower patrols and insuring the palace is still safe.

He knows Shiratorizawa won't take this escape lightly. Not only did they steal back Ushijima's bargaining chip, but they also managed to take back the half-demon Ushijima was no doubt planning to use against them. Things were only going to get more difficult from here on out, and Daichi can't help but wonder if this "help" Koushi recruited will be able to handle it.

Battling demons and battling faeries are two very different things, and he doesn't feel as though any of them are fully prepared for what's about to happen.

"Sir? Everything's quiet out here. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Ennoshita's voice pulls him out of his reverie. Daichi gives the captain a wan smile. "Our king seemed agitated earlier, so I just wanted to make sure everything was all right."

_He was more than agitated . . . he was frightened._

After Kuroo and Akaashi returned with Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Kageyama, Koushi acted strangely. Daichi helped Koushi bring Kageyama inside and as Koushi spoke spells over Kageyama's unconscious form, his hands were trembling.

"Koushi, what's wrong?"

Daichi stepped around the table to take Koushi's hands in both of his, turning him to look into his face. Koushi didn't meet his gaze, and his hands were cold.

"Koushi . . ."

"It changed," Koushi said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The vision changed."

Before Daichi could think of a way to comfort him, Koushi ripped his hands away and grabbed his arms tightly, nails digging into his sleeves.

"Whatever you do, don't leave my side tonight."

Daichi's eyes grew wide. "Why? What's going to happen tonight?"

But Koushi only pursed his lips and shook his head before turning back to Kageyama. It frustrated Daichi, but aside from grabbing Koushi and shaking him to demand an explanation, there was really nothing he could do.

"Sawamura?"

Daichi shakes himself out of the memory, turning his gaze onto Ennoshita. "Thank you for the update," he says. "Please let me know if anything changes."

The captain salutes before bowing, and Daichi turns back toward the celebration, knowing he should return before Koushi notices that he's gone. He doesn't want to cause his king any more stress.

He's making his way through the topiaries when a dark figure emerges from behind one of the trees. Daichi's hand automatically moves to the katana at his side, but he relaxes when he recognizes Iwaizumi.

"You've strayed kind of far from the party," he observes.

"They're not really my kind of thing," Iwaizumi replies with a shrug.

"I can relate," Daichi says, stepping closer.

It's darker here, away from the glittering lights, and quieter. The music and laughter and voices are muffled. A breeze flows by, and Daichi shivers in its wake, though Iwaizumi doesn't move. Uneasiness grows inside him, twisting his stomach. Upon closer inspection, Daichi can see a strange, almost blank look in Iwaizumi's eyes, and his right hand is clutching a knife.

Warily, Daichi takes a step back. "Is there something wrong, Iwaizumi-san?"

"I think a party is inappropriate, considering we're on the verge of war," Iwaizumi says, glancing back toward the gathering. "It's not a good time to let one's guard down."

"I agree," Daichi says carefully, wondering if he should call on Ennoshita. He's not sure what's going on, but his heart is pounding faster, and he tightens his grip on the katana at his side.

"There is a way to avoid a war, you know," Iwaizumi says, gazing at the rose bushes beside him. He reaches out to touch the petals of one lightly.

"You mean, I can give my pendant to Shiratorizawa and let them take control of Japan," Daichi says flatly.

Iwaizumi turns back towards him. "They don't want to hurt anyone. They have rehabilitated hundreds of criminals in their kingdom using mind control. They can do the same to the people of Japan to make things safe for your kind. Safe for everyone."

"So they say." Daichi takes another small step back. "But what's to stop them from continuing to take control of people's minds? Why would they stop at just the criminals?"

Iwaizumi stares at him, his eyes too large, and his expression too stiff. "Shiratorizawa doesn't want to fight. They only want to bring peace to everyone."

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow them to have the portal." Daichi shakes his head. He draws his katana.

Iwaizumi looks down at the knife in his hand. "I don't want to do this," he says softly.

"Then don't. Drop the knife and return to the party."

Iwaizumi moves quickly, faster than Daichi was expecting. He grabs the blade of the katana, forcing it to the side, as he swipes at Daichi's neck with the knife. Daichi ducks beneath his arm, ramming his shoulder into Iwaizumi's chest to knock him back before springing away himself. Iwaizumi curls his left hand into a fist, blood dripping between his knuckles to hit the grass beside his feet. He rushes forward again with his knife, and Daichi meets it with his katana. Iwaizumi's strength is impressive. Even with such a small blade, Daichi finds himself struggling to keep hold of his weapon.

They're too evenly matched this way, however, and Iwaizumi draws back, twirling the knife in his hand.

"This isn't you," Daichi says, shaking his head, panting softly with exertion. "They're controlling you somehow. But if you let me take you to my king, he can break whatever spell they have on you."

Iwaizumi blinks. "I'm not under a spell," he says with a faint frown. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. I have to protect the people I love, and I've come to realize that this is the best way. We can have peace under Shiratorizawa's rule. But first they need the portal. Give it to me." He holds out his hand, still wet with blood.

"No," Daichi says, swallowing hard. He brings the katana up once more. "You'll have to kill me first."

Iwaizumi's expression hardens. "So be it."

He lifts his knife and throws it directly toward Daichi's heart. Daichi swings his katana, knocking the knife to the side, and Iwaizumi hits his chest, forcing him to the ground. Daichi's arms are pinned, as Iwaizumi punches his face twice. Pain explodes across his nose and mouth, and he releases the katana to twist his arms under Iwaizumi's, grabbing them and holding them at bay before his hands can grab the pendant around his neck.

Growling, Iwaizumi jumps to his feet, pulling Daichi up with him before kicking him in the stomach. Daichi's grip loosens automatically, as his breath leaves his lungs with a _whoosh_ , and he stumbles back. Iwaizumi swipes the katana off the ground, lunging forward. Daichi ducks beneath the blade, jabbing at Iwaizumi's side with stiff fingers.

Iwaizumi staggers, clutching his side, but managing to keep hold of his weapon. He lifts it, adjusting his grip, and pulls his arm back to throw. Daichi doesn't give him the time. He rushes forward, moving to grab Iwaizumi around the waist, but with surprising agility, Iwaizumi leaps into the air, flipping over Daichi and slashing down with the katana.

Fire erupts across his back, as the blade slices through his kimono and skin. Daichi can't help the cry of pain that rips through him, as he falls to his hands and knees. He turns quickly, then, breathing hard, his eyes searching for the knife that Iwaizumi dropped. Iwaizumi strides forward and Daichi scrambles to his feet despite the pain rippling through his back.

_I need to get out of here, buy some time to alert the guards._

He reaches for the pendant, as Iwaizumi approaches, katana raised high. He's just about to speak the spell that will transport him away from the courtyard, when he hears a shout.

"DAICHI!"

_No._

Daichi lifts his hand, as the katana plunges toward his heart. "Stay back!"

There's a blur of silver and white, and Daichi feels something heavy land against his chest. He falls, Koushi's weight on top of him.

_No. No, no, no, no._

He scrambles out from under his king, gasping for breath. The weight on his lungs hasn't alleviated; if anything it has grown worse. Koushi lies on his back in the grass, coughing, gurgling blood, as the katana protrudes from his chest.

"No, no, no, no," Daichi murmurs, quickly kneeling beside him, cupping his hands around the blade to try and stop the bleeding. "Why did you do that? I was going to create a portal!"

Koushi shakes his head weakly, blood dribbling out of the corners of his mouth. "You . . . you weren't going to make one quick enough. I-I saw . . ."

"HELP! I NEED SOMEONE'S HELP!" Daichi screams, lifting his head toward the guard tower behind him. When he looks forward, eyes blazing anger, he sees Iwaizumi has disappeared.

"This isn't supposed to happen," Daichi says, shaking his head. " _I'm_ supposed to protect _you_."

Koushi gives him a unsteady smile. "I thought . . . we went over this . . ." He lifts his hand, touching the side of Daichi's face with the backs of his knuckles. His hand trembles, and Daichi grabs it before it can fall.

"Just hang on, okay? Help is coming. You're going to be okay." His voice breaks on the words, as tears fill his vision. He blinks them away, not wanting to lose sight of Koushi's face. He looks so pale in the darkness; blood as red as the roses around them pools beneath him in the grass, staining Daichi's kimono at the knees.

He can hear footsteps approaching, shouts from the guards for someone to bring a stretcher. Koushi's hand grows limp in his grasp, and Daichi clutches it tighter.

"Koushi? Koushi, stay with me. Stay with me!"

Koushi's eyes widen slightly, as they focus on something above Daichi's shoulder. "There are so many stars, Daichi . . ." His voice is barely above a whisper. "They're so beautiful . . ."

"Koushi?"

Briefly, Koushi's eyes flicker back to Daichi's. His lips tilt upward just slightly. "Everything will be okay," he says, before his eyes grow blank, his expression slackens, and his chest rattles with his last breath.

By the time the guards arrive, Koushi's gone, and Daichi's pressing his cold fingers to his forehead, as the sobs wrack his body.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Oikawa paces the room, sparks of red magic dancing along his knuckles. Ennoshita sits at the table, looking calm despite the circumstances, if a little pale. He has a notebook open in front of him, and he taps his pencil absently against it, as he watches Oikawa.

"We just need to know where Iwaizumi would go—"

"This is idiotic," Oikawa snaps irritably. He gestures toward the door. "If you let me out of here, I can go find him and bring him back."

"A lot of people are on edge right now. I don't think having a half-demon moving about freely would be a good idea. For all they know, you made him do it."

Oikawa feels sick. He stops pacing to give Ennoshita a look. "Do _you_ think I made him do it?"

Ennoshita blinks at him. "It doesn't matter what I think. What matters are the facts. We have witnesses that put you at the party during the time Sugawara-sama was"—he falters, his expression twisting just briefly before smoothing out once more—"killed. We also have evidence that Shiratorizawa used mind control on Tobio, so it's very likely the same thing happened to Iwaizumi. Which is why it's best that we find him as soon as possible, so we can stop him from falling further into their clutches."

"This doesn't make any sense," Oikawa murmurs, running a hand through his hair. He scowls at Ennoshita as though he is personally responsible for this mess, though he knows that's unfair. "Why would they want Iwa-chan? _I'm_ the half demon. I'm much more powerful than him! With me they could destroy cities! Take down mountains!"

Ennoshita watches him blandly. "With him, could they not do the same?"

Oikawa freezes, his eyes widening. "You . . . you think they're going to use him against me."

"It's quite possible," Ennoshita says, scribbling something in his notebook. "But if you help us find him, we can prevent that."

Oikawa purses his lips. "I don't know where he might have gone," he admits. "We weren't here very long. The only thing I can think of is he's returned to Shiratorizawa, but without the portal . . ."

"He could still be in Karasuno," Ennoshita nods. "Yes, we already have search parties out looking for him."

Oikawa feels a lump grow in his throat. He swallows hard and feels it settle in his chest like a heavy stone. "What are their orders if they find him?"

"Detain him," Ennoshita says, moving to stand. "Don't worry. Despite how some people feel, we're not looking to kill him. He will, however, need to be kept under lockdown until we figure out what exactly was done to him. In the meantime, you will be escorted to your room, and you will stay there until this investigation is complete."

Oikawa smirks. "You really think your guards can keep me locked up?"

Ennoshita gives him a look. "Unless you want to go on trial yourself for assault, I suggest you behave."

Oikawa frowns. "So you expect me to stay here and do nothing."

"Yes, exactly."

With that, he leaves the room. Oikawa clenches his hands into fists, releasing the pent up magic inside him with a great shout. A ball of red magic, sparking like electricity, hits the door, singeing it, but it remains intact. Oikawa huffs, pulling out a chair and sitting down in it. He folds his arms on the table and rests his forehead against them, guessing all he can do now is wait for his escort.

Not two minutes later, however, the door opens.

"That was quick," Oikawa says, as he lifts his head. His eyes widen though, as he sees not a palace guard, but Kuroo Tetsurou, of all people.

"I'm guessing you're not my escort," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I never took to that line of work, though I think I'd be pretty good at it, given my devilishly handsome features and sensual physique."

Kuroo smirks at him and, surprisingly, Oikawa finds himself smirking back, his mood lifted, if only somewhat.

"What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, again. Or at least, temporarily. Still, I think it should count so that's two-oh in my favor. You gotta step up your rescuing game."

Oikawa rolls his eyes this time. "What are you talking about?"

"Bo has this crazy idea to save the king, but we need your help. I'm pretty sure if you _did_ help, they wouldn't feel the same about locking you up, so really it's in your best interest to come with me." Kuroo holds out his hand, looking down at him expectantly.

Oikawa purses his lips, considering his options. Really, though, he has no options. It's either go with Kuroo or go back to his room (or try to escape but he knows having guards after _him_ won't help Hajime). So, he grabs Kuroo's hand to pull himself up.

"I thought Sugawara was the only faerie who knew how to raise the dead without a demon contract," he says, as he follows Kuroo out the door.

"He is," Kuroo says, leading him down the hall toward one of the many staircases in the palace. "But Bo seems convinced that if we all pool our magic we can do it, or something."

"Is our magic even compatible with theirs?"

Kuroo bites his lip. "I don't know," he admits. "But it's worth a shot, right?" He grins crookedly.

Oikawa hums. "Your hopefulness is almost sickening right now."

The grin disappears. "Hey," he says, stopping and placing a hand on Oikawa's shoulder. "They're going to find him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Oikawa replies, surprising himself with his honesty. There's just something about Kuroo that's feels reliable and trustworthy . . . it's somewhat annoying.

Kuroo hesitates, before pushing open the door to his right, stepping through into what appears to be an infirmary. There are rows of beds lined up against the wall with a single aisle between them, and in the first bed to their left lies the still form of Sugawara Koushi.

He looks almost like he's sleeping, with the sheets pulled up over his chest, his hands folded on his stomach. Sawamura kneels beside the bed, stroking his fingers through the silvery strands of hair that lie against the pillow. He's shirtless, his kimono rolled over his obi, and a large bandage is wrapped around his chest. Beside him stand Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma, the latter holding a giant old books in his arms.

Bokuto's cheeks are still flushed from the party, and his eyes brighten as Kuroo and Oikawa step through the door.

"You got him to come!" he shouts.

Kuroo snickers. "My tongue does wonders."

"Yes, very appropriate. Let's tell crude jokes while there's a dead guy in the room." Oikawa says, rolling his eyes in tandem with Kenma. They lock gazes momentarily, and guilt squirms in his stomach, as he remembers their last conversation.

Kuroo has the decency to look sheepish, but Bokuto simply wraps his arm around Kenma's shoulder.

"He's not going to stay dead, though! Kenma here's read like, _all_ the books on magic in the palace."

"Hardly," Kenma snorts, shrugging Bokuto's arm off him. "But I did come across one I think might help. It's for renewing life, meaning it restores life to things that have died, but only recently. If I'm reading it correctly, it has to be done within the first twelve hours of death otherwise it won't work. It's a complicated spell that uses a lot of magic. Like, a _lot_. That's where you all come in." He nods around the room.

"What do you need us to do?" Kuroo asks, stepping forward.

"We need to form a conduit of magic," Kenma says, opening the book and flipping to a page. He steps closer to the bed, Sawamura watching him closely through bloodshot eyes. "Don't get your hopes up just yet," he tells the man, whose lips tighten, as he nods briefly.

"Just do what you can. Please," he says.

Kenma nods, turning to the others. "I need Akaashi right beside me. He's the most skilled at conducting magic. Then I need Bokuto beside him, since he has the strongest magic. Then I need Kuroo beside him, and Oikawa beside him. I want to keep the demon magic as far from the source as possible."

Oikawa nods, understanding what Kenma's trying to do. With Bokuto between the demon magic and the pure magic of the others, he'll be taking on any possible tainting while his magic grows stronger with their energy. He wonders if Bokuto realizes the risk he's taking, considering the fact that if his magic isn't strong enough to withstand the demon magic, he could be overrun by its darkness.

Bokuto's nodding along to Kenma's explanation, though, his face a mask of determination. They arrange themselves in the order Kenma specified, each holding onto the shoulder of the other. Oikawa stands at the end of the line, trying to gather his focus. If they succeed in doing this, perhaps Sugawara will drop the charges on Hajime. If that happens, he'll be safe from any retribution.

Kenma inhales deeply, balancing the book on one arm, as he extends his other over Sugawara's body. He gives Sawamura a look.

"You might want to step back."

The man hesitates before standing, backing away until he's standing near the doorway. Kenma nods at the others then, and Oikawa reaches deep within his aura to push forth as much magic as he can. It shimmers around him like a crimson glow, and when he shifts into his demon vision, he can see the auras of the others, strengthening, growing dense against their skin like body armor and extending outward along their arms.

He sees the energy gather in Kenma's small frame, and he frowns, as a black circle in the center of his aura beings to writhe, tendrils spilling like ink from its center. Kenma's speaking the spell, reading directly from the book, but his features flinch, brows furrowing slightly over his nose.

Something's not right.

The tendrils snake out along Kenma's aura, staining it further as they go.

_Should I say something? Or will interrupting the spell cause damage to us somehow? This was a poorly constructed plan . . ._

It turns out he doesn't need to say anything, though, because just then the ball of black inside Kenma's aura explodes, and he cries out sharply in pain. The chain breaks, as Akaashi hastens to catch him. Kenma falls into his arms, his body convulsing in seizures.

"What's going on?" Sawamura demands, rushing forward.

Bokuto yelps, leaping away as Akaashi kneels on the floor, cradling Kenma's head in his lap. Kuroo's grown pale, and he grabs Bokuto's arm, pulling him close.

"What's wrong with him?" he asks frantically.

"I-I don't know!" Bokuto exclaims, running a hand through his hair. His eyes are wide, unfocused, jumping everywhere. "He has this-this taint in his aura! But it's contained! We use a spell to . . ." He grows still suddenly. "Fuck," he breathes. "I forgot to do the ritual today. It was supposed to be today and I . . . I'm sorry!"

"He's stopped," Akaashi says, lifting Kenma into his arms. He stands, stepping over to one of the other beds and placing him gently on top of the sheets.

"Kenma?" Kuroo rushes to his side, but Kenma appears to be unconscious, breathing shallowly.

"The spell was too strong," says a soft voice from the doorway.

The five turn around to see Shimizu Kiyoko, Sugawara's queen, standing in the doorway. Her face is white and streaked with dried tears, but she walks steadily toward them, looking down at Kenma. "The containment wouldn't have been able to hold it even if you had performed the ritual." She looks up at Bokuto, before turning her gaze back onto Kenma.

"There's a battle going on inside of him," she says, reaching out to brush Kenma's hair away from his face with slender fingers. "A war between the demon magic and his natural aura. If the magic isn't eradicated completely, this will continue to happen . . . until it eventually kills him."

Kuroo chokes. "But it-it can't be eradicated. It's been magically fused to his DNA . . ." His hands are trembling, and he curls them into fists.

Akaashi wavers on his feet, until Bokuto wraps his arm around his shoulders to steady him. Oikawa glances toward Sugawara, wondering what they're supposed to do now. If they can't revive the king, then Hajime's life may be forfeit. He eyes the open door. If he can slip out while the others are distracted, maybe he can find Hajime before—

"There is another way," Shimizu continues, looking up at those gathered. "If we can infuse him with enough demon magic, it will merge with whatever is inside him and overtake his natural aura."

"Wait, wait, wait you want to put _more_ of that demon stuff in him?" Bokuto asks incredulously.

Shimizu turns to him with a blink. "It may be his only chance."

"For us to infuse him with that much demon magic, he'll practically become a demon himself," Akaashi says flatly.

"Yes."

"If we do that, will there be any of his natural aura left? Will he still be Kenma?"

Shimizu's gaze lowers. "I don't know."

Oikawa eyes Kuroo, who's been silent this whole time. "Why don't we ask the boyfriend what he wants to do?" he asks.

Kuroo clenches his jaw, tearing his gaze away from Kenma to look at the others. "We're not doing anything until he wakes up."

Oikawa frowns. "We don't have _time—_ "

"We're waiting for him to wake up!" Kuroo snaps, turning on Oikawa with a glare. A red glint flashes in his eyes, as he bares his teeth, and Oikawa puts up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, we'll wait. But every second we wait for Sleeping Beauty, is another second we're without Sugawara and another second closer to being destroyed by Shiratorizawa."

_And another second farther from Hajime . . ._

Kuroo sits on the edge of the bed, picking up Kenma's hand to hold it in both of his own. Oikawa looks away, catching Sawamura's tense expression.

"If we're attacked, will you fight with us?" he asks, meeting Oikawa's gaze.

Oikawa gives him a tiny half-smile. "Do I have a choice?"

Sawamura doesn't flinch. "I'd like to know if we have an ally. I'd rather not have to worry about Shiratorizawa _and_ a half-demon trying to destroy my kingdom."

"I'm not going to destroy anything," Oikawa says, shaking his head.

Sawamura nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

Oikawa smiles tightly. "However," he continues, "if any of you harm a single hair on Iwa-chan's head . . ." He steps closer, losing the smile and fixing Sawamura with his most intense gaze.

"I won't keep that promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	26. can't you see it was all for you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy One Year Anniversary!
> 
> I can't believe it's already been a year since I first started this fic! I honestly didn't expect it to grow so big or end up being loved by so many people. You all have blessed me so much with your encouragement and enthusiasm; thank you so much for everything. <3 I hope these last few chapters live up to your expectations!
> 
> Enjoy~

 

 

 

 

greater love has no one than this:  
to lay down one's life for one's friends

\-- john 15:13, _holy bible_

* * *

 

 

 

Kenma's submerged in darkness. Every once in a while something will flash, a memory, fading in and out of sight. Sometimes they're his own, but more often they're Kenta's. He can feel the demon magic inside him moving through his aura, tainting it, suffocating it.

It's trying to take over.

_Did Kenta know this would happen? Did he condemn me to die?_

It seems counterproductive to his original goal, but the fact that he made a contract with a demon in the first place is proof of his mental instability.

Kenma struggles to breathe. It feels like there's a weight on his chest, pushing down, trying to crush him. It shouldn't be like this. The demon only left behind the smallest amount of demon magic when he fused Kenta's aura to Kenma's.

Is that what this is? Is Kenta's aura, bolstered by the demon magic, trying to take over his body?

Is he actually becoming Kenta?

Kenma lashes out against this thought. _I'm not Kenta!_ he screams silently into the blackness. _I'm Kenma! I'm Kenma!_

But who is Kenma, really? Wasn't he molded and changed in his mother's womb to resemble Kenta? Wasn't his fate already decided for him before he was born?

_No. I make my own choices. I choose my own path!_

Yet he fell in love with Kuroo, just as Kenta wanted him to. He practiced magic, because he had a natural talent for it. A talent Kenta gave him.

 _NO. I could've stopped using magic at any time. I didn't because I wanted to keep using it. And I fell in love with Kuroo because_ I _wanted to. It was_ my _choice! I'm not Kenta!_

Kenma's dealt with these thoughts already. He reminds himself of this, as he tries to calm down. After he had the vision of Kenta making the deal, he struggled for a long time over what it meant for him, what it said about his feelings and his choices. He came to the decision that all his feelings and decisions were his own, but with this pressure building inside him, doubt starts to seep through the cracks.

He sees Kuroo above him, looking down at him worriedly.

"Kenta? Are you okay?"

 _I'm not Kenta,_ Kenma tries to say, but his lips are frozen. Tears burn his eyes, as he looks up into that face full of love and affection that's not directed toward him.

_This is stupid. He loves me. I know he loves me._

But does he truly love Kenma? Or the Kenta that's inside him? If Kenma were to rid himself of Kenta's aura . . . would Kuroo still love him?

The pain in his chest grows unbearable, and he cries out against it. A warm hand covers his, gripping tightly. Calloused fingers brush his hair away from his face.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm here." It's Kuroo's voice, soft and gentle.

Kenma's eyes open slowly. He's in the Karasuno infirmary, lying on his side on one of the beds. Kuroo is sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, fingers stroking through his hair. Kenma shifts onto his back, blinking up at Kuroo.

"Hey," Kuroo says quietly, smiling despite the pallor of his skin. "Welcome back."

Kenma wets his lips and Kuroo's thumb sweeps across his temple, where a tear has slid into his ear.

"Say my name," Kenma manages to say past the lump clogging his throat.

Kuroo's smile slips away. "Kenma," he says, his grip tightening on Kenma's hand.

"Are you sure?" Kenma can't help but ask, that pressure still holding his lungs captive.

Kuroo's jaw tightens. "I'm sure." He looks up, and Kenma follows his gaze to where Keiji and Koutarou are walking into the room. They give Sugawara's bed a wide berth as they approach Kenma's.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're awake!" Koutarou says with a grin.

Keiji's relief is more subdued, but Kenma can see it in the relaxed lines of his face, the dark green of his eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asks, stepping closer to place cold fingertips against Kenma's cheek.

Kenma leans into the touch instinctively. "Like Lev is sitting on my chest," he admits. He inhales shakily, trying to expand his chest but finds it difficult. He sighs, biting his lip. Looking over at Sugawara's body, he frowns slightly.

"Where's Sawamura-san?"

"Preparing for war," Kuroo says grimly. "He got word that Shiratorizawa was on its way, so he and Oikawa left to get the troops ready."

"We need Oikawa for the spell," Kenma says, moving to sit up.

Immediately three pairs of hands push him back onto the bed, along with loud protests. Kenma frowns.

"All we have to do is perform the ritual and I'll be fine," he insists.

Koutarou shakes his head. "The queen says it won't work. The spell you want to use is too powerful. The demon magic would just break out again."

Kenma huffs.

"There . . . is a way to take away the pain of using magic," Kuroo says, looking down at his hands, which are now in his lap. He curls them into fists slowly.

Kenma watches him curiously, but it's Keiji who speaks next.

"Shimizu-sama mentioned that if we infuse you with enough demon magic it will consume the magic you currently have in your aura."

"Yeah, but we have no idea if you'd still be yourself afterwards! So that's not a good idea," Koutarou says, shaking his head.

Kenma keeps his eyes on Kuroo. There's tension along his jaw, neck, and shoulders. Reaching out, he curls his hand around Kuroo's, worming his fingers into his palm.

"What is it?" he asks.

Kuroo sighs, giving him a faint smirk. "There is a way to . . . possibly ensure you can stay yourself while also eradicating the harmful magic inside you."

"Possibly ensure?" Keiji frowns.

"The demon, my demon, . . . it's willing to transfer itself into Kenma."

There's a moment of silence while everyone processes this, before Koutarou breaks it with a loud, "WHAT?!"

Keiji's eyes are flints of emerald steel. "You want the demon inside you, the demon that committed heinous acts in your past, for which you _still_ blame yourself, to possess Kenma? I will kill you where you sit if you try it."

"Kuroo, Tetsu, dude," Koutarou says, his eyes wide. "That's, like, super bad mojo right there. Who knows what that thing will do to Kenma if you let it inside him?!"

Kuroo speaks through gritted teeth. "I know it's not ideal, but it's better than making a contract with a demon we don't know. It told me it won't try to take over Kenma's natural aura but will only consume his magic."

"And you trust it?" Keiji asks flatly.

"It's our best option," Kuroo says helplessly.

"I won't allow it."

"If we don't, Kenma will stay in pain like this until he dies from it!"

"We'll find another way."

"We might not have the time!"

Kenma scowls, not liking how they're talking as though he's not there. He presses his nails into Kuroo's palm, until Kuroo winces and turns to look at him.

"What will happen to you if I take the demon?" he asks.

"Kenma! You're not seriously considering—"

Kenma shoots Keiji a glare that has him pursing his lips and falling silent. Kenma turns back to Kuroo expectantly, but Kuroo isn't meeting his gaze. He's looking instead at Kenma's hand in his. Slowly, he brushes his thumb across Kenma's knuckles.

"I'll be without my magic," he says. "I don't understand everything it told me about the process, but . . . that's the gist of it."

Kenma frowns slightly. That'll throw a wrench into their plans somewhat, seeing as he was relying on Kuroo's magic to help bolster the spell. And with Oikawa helping Sawamura . . . but they can't do the spell without Kenma either. And if he has Kuroo's demon's magic as well as his own . . . maybe that will be strong enough.

And he knows how much Kuroo is plagued by the demon in his head. He's seen the nightmares Kuroo has of the horrific deeds it did while possessing him. If he can free Kuroo from that, by even the smallest amount, he's willing.

"Is that okay?" he asks, knowing how much Kuroo's come to rely on his magic.

Kuroo looks at him directly for the first time since the conversation started. He grins crookedly. "I wasn't able to save Kenta, but I can save you." He lifts his free hand, cupping Kenma's cheek briefly, before his hand falls to his side, and he looks away.

Something's not right. Kenma's stomach flips uneasily, but Kuroo's already pulling away, moving to stand in front of Keiji.

"He made his choice," he says, lifting his arms to the side. "Feel free to argue it with him, but in my experience it'll be futile. I think you know that."

Frustration lies heavily in the lines of Keiji's face, and he looks around Kuroo's shoulder to Kenma. Pushing past Kuroo, he steps up to the bed, his lips a firm line.

"I can handle it, Keiji," Kenma says, offering his hand to the man. "I won't let it overtake me."

"You are physically and mentally weak," Keiji says, not taking Kenma's hand. "You may not have a choice."

Kenma lowers his hand. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he says, unable to keep the sarcasm from spilling out. He understands Keiji's concern, but he wonders when his friend will trust him to take care of himself.

Keiji's frown deepens. "It's not about my faith in you. I don't trust that demon."

"If it makes you feel any better, it's not as bloodthirsty as it used to be," Kuroo says. "It's actually kinda . . . decent."

Koutarou blinks. "Can demons turn good?" he asks, scratching the back of his head.

"No," Keiji says flatly.

"Maybe," Kuroo says, simultaneously.

"There's only one way to find out," Kenma says.

Kuroo holds out his hand to Kenma. "We have to be in close proximity, but you should probably be lying down. This hospital bed is too small to fit the both of us, so I figured we could . . . go to my room?"

Kenma nods, taking Kuroo's hand and moving to stand. He's a little unsteady and wavers on his feet, until Kuroo scoops him up in his arms. Kenma huffs.

"I'm not a child," he complains.

"I know," Kuroo says, with a faint smirk. He doesn't set him down.

Koutarou and Keiji follow, as Kuroo carries him out of the infirmary toward the bedrooms. They pass palace faeries as they go, everyone dressed for war, shouting orders or obeying them. Kenma watches Kuroo's expression. It grows grim, the lines in his face deepening, as they draw closer to his room. Again, Kenma's stomach flips with the sensation that something's off.

Once they reach the bedroom, Koutarou and Keiji stop outside the doors.

"We'll wait here just in case you need us," Koutarou says, bending to place a small kiss on Kenma's forehead, making him feel even more childish. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," Kenma says, resisting the urge to wipe his forehead. The kiss had been rather wet.

Keiji still seems angry, but when Kuroo sets Kenma down to open the door, he reaches out to touch Kenma's arm.

"Please . . . be careful," he says.

Kenma takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, before rising on his toes to place a gentle kiss on the corner of Akaashi's mouth.

"I will," he says.

Kuroo ushers him inside and slides the door shut behind them. Immediately Kenma can sense tension in the room. It tingles along his skin, and while it's not exactly unpleasant, it's not very comfortable either. He realizes he has no idea what's about to happen or how this will affect Kuroo. He says it'll take away his magic, but that can't be all there is to it. Isn't the demon fused with his soul? If Kenma tears that bond . . . there must be repercussions that Kuroo isn't telling him.

"Kur—"

Kuroo descends on him swiftly, covering his mouth with his own in a deep kiss that startles the breath out of Kenma. He recovers quickly, though, and wraps his arms around Kuroo's neck to return the kiss. He can feel the tremor in Kuroo's hands, as he presses them into Kenma's back, holding him close against his chest. There's desperation in his touch that belies the gentle way his lips move on Kenma's.

He would've been more than happy to lose himself in the kiss, to forget about everything else and just stay there with Kuroo. But there's a job they need to do, and he still needs to know what exactly this transfer is going to do to Kuroo.

So he pulls away, moving his hands down to Kuroo's chest, spreading his fingers out against the kimono, as his eyes fall on the amber stone that hangs from the red ribbon directly before his eyes. He closes his eyes briefly, as Kuroo brushes his lips against his forehead, lingering and inhaling deeply as though he's taking in Kenma's scent.

"Kuroo . . ."

"I know. I'm sorry. Just . . . give me a minute."

Kenma curls his fingers into the silk of his kimono. "You're not telling me something. What's going to happen to you after we do this?"

"Nothing. I'll be fine."

Kenma bites his lip, frowning faintly. Kuroo moves one hand, pressing his fingers against the underside of Kenma's chin in order to pull his head up. He smirks faintly.

"Don't worry. It's just going to take my magic. I won't be cool anymore, but you'll still like me, right?"

Kenma rolls his eyes, shoving Kuroo's chest gently. "Don't ask stupid questions."

Kuroo grins, and just like that the weird tension is gone, or at least greatly lessened. Kuroo leads him to the bed and lies down on his side, Kenma doing the same, facing Kuroo. Kuroo smiles, scooting closer in order to press his forehead against Kenma's. Reaching up, he brushes Kenma's hair behind his ear, fingertips brushing just barely against his skin.

"Are you ready?" he asks softly.

Kenma nods, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. He moves his own hand, resting it against the side of Kuroo's face. He searches it for any sign of the truth, for a hint of whatever Kuroo is hiding, but he can't read his expression.

"I love you," Kuroo breathes, stroking his thumb along the shell of Kenma's ear.

Kenma's stomach drops. "Tetsurou—"

Black smoke hits Kenma's face like a hammer to a nail, snapping his head back with the impact. He chokes, as it forces itself into his mouth and down his throat. It burns everywhere, as it permeates his aura, seeping into the very core of him. He struggles, fighting against it, when he hears a sharp voice in his head that doesn't sound like his own.

_[it'll hurt less if you stop resisting.]_

Kenma gasps for breath. Is this the demon? The demon that's plagued Kuroo's mind and soul for hundreds of years?

_[i plagued him? i'd say it was the other way around, honestly. that guy is so good it kind of makes me sick.]_

Kenma feels his body slowly return to him. His breathing evens out, and the pain recedes.

_You're letting me go?_

_[i promised the kid i wouldn't take over your natural aura, only consume the demon magic already inside you. the stain was pretty big, but i managed it. you're welcome.]_

_But . . . Kenta . . ._

_[i left his aura untouched, but i can suppress it if you'd like me to. it's interesting. because of the fusion the demon performed, your auras should be merged seamlessly like one aura. perhaps they were when you were born, but i can clearly sense yours as separate from his. like you're your own person.]_

Kenma's surprised at the amount of relief that floods through him. _I_ am _my own person._

_[so it would seem.]_

"Kuroo, it worked." Kenma opens his eyes, and his heart stops.

The bed beside him is empty.

Well, not exactly empty. Kuroo's kimono lies beside him on the sheets. Confused, Kenma reaches for it, pushing aside the folds to see the undergarments are there as well. It's as though Kuroo teleported out of them.

"Kuroo?"

Kenma's voice sounds small in the silence of the room. There's no answer.

Kuroo isn't there.

Kenma looks about frantically, his heartbeat quickening. _What happened? Where is he?_

"Kenma? Tetsu? Are you okay in there?" Koutarou calls into the room.

Kenma has no idea what to say. Where did he go?

_[ah. right. the idiot didn't tell you.]_

Kenma freezes, his blood growing cold. "Didn't tell me what?"

_[tetsurou and i came from the hell mouth. the body you saw and spoke with . . . the body you kissed and held in your arms wasn't tetsurou's true body. that is decaying in the place kenta buried him.]_

Kenma blinks, denial squeezing around his mind, not wanting to believe it. "No."

_[demons have physical forms in hell, but unless we come through a hell mouth we can't sustain corporal forms in this realm. which is why we appear as smoke and need to possess a human body in order to move about. but with my help, tetsurou found a hell mouth and escaped. i shifted my form into his using my magic and, just now, used my magic to leave my body, sending it back to hell, in order to possess you.]_

Kenma shudders in revulsion. To think . . . all this time . . . he'd been kissing a demon . . .

"No." He shakes his head to clear it. "No, you're lying. I know that was Kuroo."

 _[well yes that_ was _kuroo tetsurou. i was fused to his soul and it was stronger than i anticipated. i thought i'd be able to take over completely once we arrived in hell, but he fought me into submission and, in doing so, gained my respect. he made a deal with me: he wouldn't find a way to banish me once we escaped if i helped him. it was a win-win, as you humans say. we both got out of hell. it's really not a nice place, you know. i might've found all his pesky human emotions annoying, but it was better than being down there.]_

Kenma bites his lip, staring down at the clothes on the bed. He feels sick, and his chest is threatening to crush his lungs. He strokes his fingers across the kimono, curling his fingers into the material until he's clutching it so tightly his knuckles turn white.

_Did he know?_

_[he didn't actively know that it wasn't his true form, but i believe some part of him always suspected.]_

He lied.

He said everything would be fine.

_Did he know this would happen?_

_[did he know giving me to you would essentially kill him? i did warn him, yes.]_

Kenma hunches over the kimono, fighting the lump in his throat, the scream of anger and betrayal and _pain_ that's warring to be heard. How dare he? How _dare_ he? He led Kenma to believe everything would be okay if they did this; Kenma _trusted_ him. And now he's here, alone, with no way of knowing if he'll ever see Kuroo again.

_[let it out, kid. holding it in isn't going to do you any good.]_

The cry rattles his chest and tears through his throat, scraping it raw. Koutarou and Keiji burst into the room, ready to battle whatever is hurting Kenma. But they can't save him from this. They can't do anything.

"Kenma?" Koutarou approaches him hesitantly.

Kenma scrambles through the folds of clothing, his hand falling on the amber stone still attached to that stupid red ribbon. He curls his fingers around it, his breaths coming in frantic bursts. It feels warm in his palm, a lingering remnant of Kuroo's skin.

"Kenma . . . where's Tetsurou?" Keiji asks carefully.

"Gone," Kenma manages through pants. He's hyperventilating, spots appearing before his eyes.

"Kenma, breathe." Keiji places his hand on Kenma's back, but he wrenches away from the touch. He doesn't want Keiji. He wants Kuroo. He wants that damn bastard back to _explain_ himself.

He lifts his hand above his head, ready to fling the stone across the room.

_[i wouldn't do that if i were you.]_

Kenma freezes. He can see Koutarou and Keiji's confused looks, but he ignores them.

_WHY?_

_[look at it.]_

Kenma lowers his hand. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers to look at the stone resting in his palm. At first glance it appears to be a normal amber stone. Pretty, but unremarkable. But then he feels it.

A soft pulse like a heartbeat.

A closer look reveals a faint aura surrounding the stone, shimmering gold, brighter than any aura Kenma's ever seen. He stares down at it, the tears drying on his face as he watches the slow pulse. Carefully, he cups it in both hands, cradling the stone like a newborn kitten.

"K-Kuroo . . .?"

Koutarou and Keiji lean forward, eyes turning to the stone as well.

"No way . . . Tetsurou's in there?"

"I think . . . his soul . . ."

_[it couldn't merge with yours, so it needed something to latch onto. that stone must have magical properties, or he had some sort of strong emotional attachment to it. there may be a way to bring him back using it. unlikely, but not impossible.]_

Kenma sniffles, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. _Why didn't you tell me that sooner?_ He hopes his inner voice sounds as angry and accusatory as he wants it to sound.

_[i didn't realize until you picked it up.]_

The demon sounds huffy, but Kenma ignores it, carefully tying the ribbon around his neck. The stone sits warm and comforting against his sternum, and he can feel its steady beat through his clothing. He looks up to see Koutarou and Keiji watching him, bewilderment written all over their expressions.

"I'll explain later," Kenma says, his strength returning to him with this newfound hope. He moves off the bed, standing and straightening his kimono and hakama. "We have a job to finish."

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Ever since he was a child, Daichi knew that relations with Shiratorizawa were strained. As he grew older, it became more and more apparent that war was imminent. After the marriage of Shimizu Kiyoko and Koushi, it seemed as though peace would be found between the two kingdoms. But then they didn't produce an heir and Shimizu's father passed, Ushijima Wakatoshi rising to power in his place.

Despite Ushijima's persistence and lack of tact in his dealings with Karasuno, Daichi never suspected that he would resort to assassination. The faerie simply didn't seem to have it in him. He always speaks of peace worldwide and seems genuine in his love for his people.

Yet King Shimizu's death came about under suspicious circumstances, circumstances of which nobody knows the true details, considering Shiratorizawa swept the investigation under the rug almost immediately. So it would seem _someone_ in the Shiratorizawa palace _is_ capable of murder, and has now used it twice to shift things to Ushijima's advantage.

And now war is upon them, and Daichi feels as though he should have been better prepared.

"Sir! What should we do about the search for Iwaizumi Hajime?" Ennoshita asks, standing at attention before him.

"I'm afraid we'll have to hold off for now," Daichi says, his gut twisting with the admission. "We have to reinforce our troops at the wall. We can't let anyone from Shiratorizawa inside. Strengthen the shields at the border, and have Hitoka and her fellow handmaidens on standby to assist with any wounded should Shiratorizawa's army manage to get through."

"What about you, sir? Shouldn't you be inside the palace? We can't run the risk of you being struck down in battle. You're too important."

Daichi clenches his jaw. He thinks of Koushi lying on that bed in the infirmary, every second that passes another second closer to the time when it will be too late to revive him. But he knows he can't simply sit by him while his friends and family fight. He has to do _something_.

And some part of him, larger than he'd like to admit, wants to make Shiratorizawa pay for what they've done.

"Negative. I'll be with you throughout the battle."

Ennoshita frowns. "Sir, with all due respect—"

"Don't worry, captain," the man standing beside Daichi speaks for the first time. Oikawa Tooru gives Ennoshita a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'll ensure Sawamura's safety."

Ennoshita's doesn't relax. "I'm not entirely comfortable with that."

"Unfortunately, you have no say in the matter."

Daichi sighs. "He's right. I asked him to guard my back during the fight. In turn, I'll keep an eye on his. I won't let him escape, Chikara. You can trust me on that."

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought I wasn't a prisoner."

"You're not a prisoner. We just don't trust you," Ennoshita states.

"That hurts my feelings."

"I don't care."

Daichi holds up his hands. "All right, we don't have time for this. Chikara, you're just going to have to trust me, okay? We have an advantage if he fights with us. It's in his best interest to help us. He's not going to betray us."

"I'd feel safer if he made an oath on it."

Daichi turns to Oikawa. "Would you be willing to do so?"

Oikawa blinks. "What does taking this oath entail, exactly?"

Ennoshita smirks, crossing his arms. "It's a spell binding you to your word. Meaning, if you break it, you die."

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. "That seems a little extreme, but okay."

Daichi waves him off. "His willingness proves his sincerity. Go find Hitoka and give her my orders. Tell Kei and Tadashi to guard them as they prepare the medical tents."

Ennoshita bows stiffly, reluctant yet obedient.

"I feel I should thank you for trusting me, but I have a feeling you believe you don't have a choice."

Daichi gives Oikawa a weary look. "You've given me no reason to not trust you. Please don't prove me wrong tonight."

Oikawa salutes him, and Daichi tries to ignore the misgivings Ennoshita's suspicion incited. Still, there is one concern still weighing on his mind, and as the troops gather, forming rows in front of the palace gate, he steps in front of Oikawa and meets his gaze.

"I need you to promise me something."

Oikawa tilts his head.

"Promise me you won't leave my side, not even if you see Iwaizumi among them. My people need to know that you are with us if they are going to have any hope of defeating Shiratorizawa. Their morale is already low. They need the hope you give us."

Oikawa's eyes widen slightly. "The hope _I_ give you?"

"You are the son of a Demon King. The magic that runs through your aura is more powerful than the majority of these fae. With you, we are stronger. With you, we stand a chance."

Oikawa appears stunned. Daichi waits, wondering if the young half-demon has ever considered himself as more than just a cursed individual. He can see a new light begin to grow in his eyes, and the glamour he clings to like armor shimmers before falling away. The fae nearest to them notice and whispers begin to travel through the ranks.

Oikawa flinches, but he keeps his chin held high, mismatched eyes glowing brightly, his horns curving toward the sky.

"I know I'm a handsome, majestic creature, but your eyes are gonna fall out if you keep staring~" he sings toward the faerie soldier nearest to him.

The faerie startles, quickly turning his gaze forward.

Daichi turns to address the fae gathered. "If anyone has a problem with Oikawa Tooru fighting with us, speak now or hold your peace. We have a war to fight. A war against a much greater, stronger enemy. I don't know about you, but I feel better with this demon on our side."

"TOORU! TOORU! TOORU!" the chant starts near the back of the crowd, and soon others pick it up as well.

Oikawa's eyes widen, and his smirk slips from his face. Daichi pounds on his back, and he stumbles forward slightly.

"Isn't this better than going off on your own?"

"Iwa-chan's not going to believe me when I tell him about this," Oikawa says, shaking his head.

Daichi nudges him gently. "You should address them."

Oikawa hesitates only briefly before stepping forward and raising his hand to quiet the soldiers.

"Thank you for your support," he says. "Shiratorizawa attacked you in a way that was underhanded and personal, and we will not let them get away with this. It's personal for me too . . . the man they used to do their dirty work was my—my best friend." He clenches his hand into a fist before relaxing it. "This isn't just your war anymore, it's mine as well. So let's make them pay for what they've done to us."

A cheer rises up among the soldiers. Oikawa smiles, opening his arms as though to embrace the troops in front of him.

"I believe in all of you!"

Daichi steps forward, raising his sword into the air. "For Suga!"

"FOR SUGA!"

The response is nearly deafening, but Daichi can't help the grim smile that tilts his lips.

_We'll make you proud, Koushi. And we'll return to you victorious._

The gates open, and the soldiers surge forward under the command of their captains. They're wholly outnumbered by the forces of Shiratorizawa, but they are full of righteous anger, and sometimes that's all one needs.

 

The trek to the border is quiet. With all of the citizens inside the palace walls, the streets of Karasuno are bare. Daichi's never seen the city so empty and silent. It feels oppressive, pressing down on them all. The high mood from earlier has faded into hushed apprehension. Nobody makes a sound, as they march toward the border.

They come to a stop, spreading out until they stand side by side in rows, five fae across, ten fae deep. There are perhaps two hundred soldiers in all. A pathetic amount, no doubt, in the face of the thousands of fae Shiratorizawa has at their disposal. Daichi tries not to linger on those statistics, however, and keeps his eyes trained on the line of trees in front of them.

The first thing he notices is how still the trees and bushes are. There's no sound of any animals, and no birds sing softly in the branches. It's as though the forest knows of the danger approaching and have taken precautions against what's coming.

Beside him, one of the soldiers stiffens, his eyes becoming wide and glassy. As Daichi watches, he drops his weapon and moves to sit on the ground. One by one, the others soldiers follow suit. Daichi and Oikawa remain standing, as the entire army quietly surrenders. Indignation fills Daichi, and he reaches to grab the nearest soldier by his shoulder, shaking him.

"What are you doing? Stand up!"

The faerie wobbles in his grasp, but otherwise makes no other movement. When Daichi peers into his face, he sees the same slack-jawed expression Tobio had when he came through the portal.

"They're being controlled," Daichi breathes, not entirely sure he can believe what he's seeing.

Oikawa hisses, eyes narrowing as he remains focused on the trees ahead of them.

"Semi Eita."

The name issues from his lips in a hiss, and, as though summoned by the odious statement, the faerie himself emerges from the trees.

Daichi reaches for his sword, drawing it out and pointing it toward Semi.

"Let them go," he growls.

Semi says nothing, but his face is pinched in concentration. Daichi wonders if he's holding the entire army captive with his mind alone. It would be impressive if it wasn't also completely terrifying.

"I'm afraid he can't do that~" comes a sing-song voice from behind Semi. Tendou Satori steps forward, slinging his arm across Semi's shoulders. "Isn't this great? You're all under Eita-kun's control, so this can be a peaceful transition of power. Nobody has to get hurt!"

"I'm not under his control," Daichi says. "And neither is Oikawa. What's to stop us from cutting you both down now where you stand?"

Tendou snaps his fingers. "You know, that's a good question! But, see, the answer is you wouldn't get two steps closer to Eita here without me killing you both so . . . ding ding! Try again!"

Oikawa clenches his hands into fists. "Where's Iwa-chan? What did you do with him?"

"He's fine," Tendou says, waving dismissively. "And he'll remain fine as long as there's no funny business!" He points his finger at Oikawa.

While his attention is on the half-demon, Daichi rushes forward, lifting his sword. He only means to wound Semi, to break his concentration and perhaps free his men, but before he can get close enough to even graze him, a giant sword blocks his path. The metal meets in a loud _CLANG_ , and the reverberations tingle up Daichi's arm, almost causing him to lose his grip. Lifting his gaze, he meets the eyes of Ushijima Wakatoshi himself.

Daichi leaps back, and Ushijima positions himself between Semi and Daichi. Tendou steps forward as well, magic gathering in a tight ball in the palm of his hand.

"Sawamura Daichi," Ushijima says, his voice rumbling low with the presence of a mountain. "Hand over the pendant. Nobody has to die here today."

"Someone has already died," Daichi says, his chest twinging at the memory of Koushi lying still and lifeless in that infirmary bed. "Your men brainwashed our trusted visitor, a good man, and forced him to kill our king!"

"That was unfortunate," Tendou says, clucking his tongue. "It was supposed to be you."

Daichi knew this, of course. He knew he'd been the intended target, but the weight of sudden guilt causes his grip to slacken on his sword. He readjusts quickly, shaking his head to clear it.

"Sawamura, stand down. Save your people." Ushijima studies him, and there's earnestness in his voice that's difficult to ignore. "Look at how strong even one of my fae is." He gestures to the army sitting on the ground, staring straight ahead blankly. "Think of what we could do with hundreds of others trained to do this. We could provide peace to all of Japan. For both humans and fae alike."

"Until someone gets overzealous and decides to use people for their own personal gain," Oikawa says sharply, eyes still trained on Semi. He's holding one hand behind his back, and out of the corner of his eye, Daichi can see red magic sparking like electricity in the center of his palm.

"I trust my fae."

"The more people who learn how to use this skill, the more you run the risk of someone rising up against you," Daichi says sharply. "Go home, Ushijima! Tend to your people, your crops, your kingdom. Forget about Japan! It was lost to us centuries ago."

"It was our home first," Ushijima says, anger blazing in his eyes. "They stole it from us. Captured our people and made them slaves. You would stand in the way of us bringing our people home?"

"This isn't the right way!"

"It is the only way."

"Enough talk!" Oikawa flings out his hand, the ball of red magic crackling through the air. It sails toward Semi's chest, and Tendou leaps in front of it, calling forth a shield of golden magic. Oikawa's magic slams against it, spreading out like lightning in jagged bolts against the shield. Tendou staggers back under the force of it, and Oikawa leaps forward as he does, bringing with him more magic to attack.

Daichi uses this opening to strike at Ushijima. His back screams at him, pain reminding him of his wound, but he ignores it. He meets Ushijima blade for blade, and grits his teeth, wondering if he'll be able to force the king into submission or if he'll have to kill him.

It's probably worrying that he feels no qualms about the latter option, but he doesn't dwell on it. Shiratorizawa took his king. They can't be allowed to get away with that. For a moment his vision blurs into red. He's aware of Oikawa and Tendou fighting to his right, Semi Eita standing further back with his gaze fixed ahead of him, breathing shallowly. Time seems to slow, as Ushijima's blade strikes his again and again.

Daichi's arms tremble. Something wet trickles down his back. Blood, most likely. His wound has reopened. Even so, he doesn't relent. He pushes back against Ushijima with everything he has, his jaw clenched to fight the pain.

"Why do you persist against me?" Ushijima asks, as he presses down against Daichi's sword, the two locked together, faces mere inches apart. "They're only humans. What does it matter if they are enslaved?"

"It's wrong," Daichi hisses, his entire body shaking under the strain of holding back Ushijima's weight. "If you do this, you're no better than the humans that took advantage of our people in the past. You don't want justice. You want revenge."

Ushijima blinks down at him, as he forces Daichi to his knees. Daichi reaches out with his aura, searching for Oikawa. But he no longer senses his presence. _Did he abandon me after all?_

Pain explodes behind his eyes, as Ushijima knocks his forehead against Daichi's. He crumples to the ground, blinking through the blackness that's threatening to overcome his vision. His sword is kicked out of his hand next, and when he turns to reach for it, a boot steps on his chest, pushing him onto his back.

Leaning down, Ushijima reaches for the pendent around his neck, curling his fingers around it and yanking. The cord snaps, and Ushijima straightens with the pendant in his palm. Daichi grabs his ankle, trying to force the man's foot off him. He calls upon his magic, but Ushijima's shield is strong, and he's unable to pierce through it.

_I'm sorry, Koushi. I failed._

His eyes burn, and Ushijima looks down at him with something in his expression akin to pity.

"You should have joined forces with us," he says, in a low voice. "We would've welcomed you into Shiratorizawa."

"I have no regrets," Daichi wheezes against the weight on his chest.

"Soon, you may have many."

Ushijima leans down once more and knocks the hilt of his sword against the side of Daichi's head. Everything goes black.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Oikawa honestly meant to stay by Sawamura's side. But once he engaged with Tendou, he found himself quickly losing control of the situation.

Battling fae with magic as strong as his isn't the same as fighting imps. And even with his father, Oikawa had Kuroo's assistance. There's also the fact that he can't exactly do much to Tendou when he still has no idea where Hajime is. So he fights the faerie, but finds himself holding back. It's frustrating, especially when he begins to notice Tendou toying with him.

"Sad sad little demon prince," Tendou sings, as he blocks another one of Oikawa's attacks with ease. "Must you be so troublesome? If you surrender I can bring you to your precious human~ I know where he is."

Oikawa bites back his initial retort. He can't afford to lose his composure. But the ache of missing Hajime, the need to see him and know he's okay, starts to pull at him, and his attacks weaken further.

_Hajime wouldn't want me to pull my punches like this! I've got to attack him with everything I have!_

_But if I kill him or even knock him unconscious, I won't know where to start looking for Hajime . . ._

The two thoughts war in his mind, and he finds himself pinned against a tree by Tendou's magic. He struggles, realizing only now that they've ventured away from the border, further into the woods. He left Sawamura behind, as well as Semi Eita.

"So this was your tactic," he says aloud, keeping his voice light. "You wanted to separate me from Sawamura and your boyfriend."

Tendou tilts his head, a slow grin stretching across his strange face. "Do we seem like we're lovers?" he asks, as though that's the most important thing right now. "Wait until I tell Eita-kun. He'll be so annoyed!"

Oikawa flings his magic forward, but it only bounces off Tendou's shield and returns to him. He has to swerve to the side to avoid getting hit. Tendou laughs.

"It's obvious you care about him," Oikawa says, scrambling to think of a way to shift this situation to his advantage. "Wouldn't you do anything to get him back if someone took him from you?"

"Mmm, you're attempting to appeal to my better nature," Tendou muses, tapping his chin. "An interesting move! Unfortunately for you, I don't care about hypothetical situations, nor do I care about you and your human. Try again~"

Oikawa purses his lips. "If you don't tell me where Iwa-chan is, I'll kill Semi Eita."

"Oho! That's more like it! A good threat. I would hate to see Eita-kun die. All of his duties would fall to me, and that's way too much responsibility! It'd be so inconvenient! But killing him would require you to get past me, and we both know you won't hurt me when I'm the only one who knows where your human is."

Oikawa curls his hand into a fist, wanting more than anything to punch that smug look off Tendou's face. But he forces himself to relax. He's beginning to realize that Tendou enjoys being provoked. Trying to weed the information out of him this way isn't going to work. He has to try something else.

"You're right, I won't hurt you," Oikawa says, holding up his hands. He releases his magic, allowing it to settle back within him, though it simmers beneath his aura, ready to be summoned once more at any moment. "Clearly, this is going nowhere. So I'll simply find him myself."

Turning his back on Tendou, he begins to walk through the woods, wracking his brain to think of a new tactic. He could wander aimlessly throughout the forest trying to find Hajime, but that seems unwise and rather tedious. He could also double back toward Sawamura and check on that situation. Perhaps get to Semi before Tendou can return to him . . .

He breaks into a run.

"Hey, wait! Come back!" Tendou shouts after him.

Oikawa ducks, as a ball of golden magic soars past his head. It explodes in front of him, and he veers around it. Reaching for his own magic, he cuts through the trees around him, sending the magic in wide arcs like a scythe cutting through wheat. As he runs, he hears the trees falling behind him, blocking Tendou's path.

Once he's placed a good amount of distance between them, he closes his eyes and focuses on the border where he left Sawamura.

He hasn't teleported in a while, has never really practiced it, but even so when he opens his eyes next, disoriented and staggering, he's standing amongst the army he left behind.

They're lying down, now, slumped over onto the ground with their weapons gone. For a moment Oikawa's afraid they'd been slaughtered. But a closer look at the soldier nearest him reveals they've only been put to sleep. Straightening, he looks around for Sawamura and finds him lying on his back several feet away. Rushing over, he kneels beside the Guardian, reaching for his chest.

The pendant is gone.

Oikawa closes his eyes, trying to think. Where would they have gone? Back to Shiratorizawa?

No, they'd have to implement their plan as soon as possible. It's more likely they've gone to the clearing where he and Hajime first arrived in Karasuno.

Standing, he begins to run.

 

 

The clearing discloses where the Shiratorizawa army has been this entire time. They're standing at attention in rows, fewer than Oikawa imagined there would be. But when he gets a closer look, he notices they're all wearing the same outfits and armor as the guards in the prison greenhouse. These are all fae who know how to control minds. They don't need an army, he realizes, only enough faeries to control those that might resist them.

At the center of the clearing, Ushijima stands holding the pendant in his hand. He's frowning down at it, turning it slowly this way and that, inspecting it. Oikawa realizes he probably has no idea how to access its magic to call forth the portal. He smirks faintly, watching from his vantage point in the trees, while Ushijima hands the pendant over to a smaller faerie beside him. It takes a moment for Oikawa to recognize him, but then he sees the unusual cut of his sandy-colored hair.

Shirabu Kenjirou.

 _Does that mean . . ._ Oikawa scans the area below. After a moment he catches sight of Goshiki Tsutomu, practically vibrating with anticipation, standing next to a man Oikawa knows as well as he knows his own face.

"Hajime," he breathes.

Hajime stares straight ahead, ignoring or simply not hearing whatever Goshiki is chattering about beside him. On his other side stands Semi Eita, face pale, sweat dampening the hair around his temples and ears. How much strain did he undergo while holding the Karasuno army captive with his mind? He must be exhausted.

Weakened.

There's no sign of Tendou.

Oikawa knows what he has to do. He's just preparing to jump, when Goshiki suddenly lifts his head, eyes meeting Oikawa's. His mouth drops open, his eyes widening.

"Semi-san! Look ou—"

Oikawa drops from the tree, falling into Semi's back and sending them both to the ground. Because of Goshiki's warning, though, the fae reacts quickly and is able to keep his head from slamming against the forest floor. He twists beneath Oikawa, shoving him off with magic. Oikawa flies backwards, but manages to catch himself before hitting the trees around them. He leaps forward, grabbing Goshiki by his arm and twisting it behind him, forcing him to his knees. When he starts to struggle, Oikawa places his claws against the underside of his neck. Goshiki freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

"Let Iwa-chan go, or I'll rip his throat out," he snaps, red eye glowing, his scales creeping up his arms to armor them.

"My king, should we do something?" Shirabu asks, looking up at his king, his face pale.

Semi stands, placing his hand on Hajime's shoulder, as he looks down at Oikawa, eyes blazing.

"You hurt him, and I'll have Iwaizumi fall on his own sword," he says, his voice calm despite the anger in his expression.

Oikawa's chest tightens, as Hajime draws a broadsword from the sheath across his back, its jeweled hilt glinting in the moonlight. Oikawa recognizes it as the gift Ushijima gave him when they first spoke to him, and his stomach drops.

Goshiki trembles in his grasp, his voice a warble as he calls out plaintively, "K-Kenji?"

Shirabu steps forward quickly, but Ushijima holds out his arm, stopping him from advancing. Shirabu frowns, looking up at his king.

"Trust Eita to handle it. Concentrate on the pendant."

Shirabu purses his lips, but nods, lowering his gaze to the pendant. Oikawa studies Semi, noting the strain in his expression, the way his fingers are digging into Hajime's shoulder.

"You've exerted yourself too much," he says lightly. "I doubt you could make anyone do anything."

Semi smiles, but it's razor sharp, bordering on cruel. "Is that so?"

Hajime turns the sword toward his chest, its point resting against his sternum. Oikawa's grip tightens on Goshiki, and his sharp claws pierce the soft skin of his neck just enough to cause blood to trickle out. The boy whimpers in his grasp, and Shirabu glances over, his face pale, even as he murmurs a spell over the pendant.

"Eita," Ushijima says. "Release the human."

Semi scowls, but after a moment he relaxes his grip and takes a step back. Hajime lowers his sword, but his gaze is still distant, his expression blank.

"Let go of his mind as well," Oikawa hisses, his hands trembling as he continues to keep a hold on Goshiki.

Semi lifts his hands out to the side. "I have no active influence on him. The spell I put on his mind gave him a command to fulfill, one he could complete without me needing to keep my eye on him. However his brain reconfigured its thoughts to justify the action, I can't control. It's out of my hands."

"That's a lie," Oikawa snaps.

Semi shrugs. "Choose to believe me or not, but you gain nothing by killing the boy."

Oikawa hesitates, glancing toward Shirabu and the pendant in his hands. "Give me back the pendant, and then I'll let him go."

Shirabu stiffens. He stops muttering his spell, and tightens his grip on the pendant.

"My king?" he says helplessly.

Ushijima's brows furrow slightly. "Tsutomu. Have you not been training to defeat me in battle?"

Goshiki nods slightly, then hisses in pain when the movement causes Oikawa's claws to dig deeper into his neck. Ushijima's gaze is steady, as he looks upon his young ward.

"How do you expect to defeat me, if you cannot free yourself?"

Oikawa realizes what's about to happen a split-second too late. Goshiki's aura clenches, tightening, before expanding outward in a sudden blast that knocks Oikawa to the ground, winding him. Goshiki scrambles to his feet, face red, hands clenched into fists.

"I am the prince of Shiratorizawa!" he exclaims, his voice breaking on the words. He doesn't seem embarrassed by this, though, but instead lifts his chin. "I'm stronger than you!"

"Little brat," Oikawa mutters, jumping off the ground and slamming his magic against Goshiki's chest. The boy flies back with an "oof!" knocking into Semi, who has to grab him around the chest in order to keep them both from falling.

Oikawa uses the distraction to grab Hajime. He takes his shoulders and shakes them, looking into that empty expression and feeling as though shards of glass are imbedding in his heart.

"Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan, look at me! Snap out of it!"

Hajime's gaze shifts, focusing on Oikawa's face. He frowns faintly. "Tooru . . . what are you doing here?" he asks, lifting one hand to touch Oikawa's cheek. "You need to leave. We're about to go to war."

"The war's already started," Oikawa says, shaking his head. "You have to help me stop them."

Hajime shakes his head, his features still lifeless, his voice distant. "It's better this way. You won't need to hide anymore. You can be yourself."

"I don't need to brainwash anyone to be myself. As long as I can be myself with you . . . that's all that matters. Besides, what's the world going to think if a half-demon helps take over Japan? You think that's going to get me into anyone's good graces?" he laughs, and it sounds almost hysterical.

"There can be peace . . ."

"It won't be real! It'll all be controlled by _him_." Oikawa points to Ushijima. "You agreed with me before. Semi put a spell on you to make you kill Sawamura. But you're not a killer! This isn't you!"

Hajime blinks. "I feel normal," he says with no inflection.

"You're feeling nothing!" Oikawa exclaims, shaking him again. "The Hajime I know wouldn't be okay with this! The Hajime I know wouldn't stop fighting for what he believed is right!"

"You're wasting your time," Semi says, glaring at Oikawa from where he's healing the shallow wounds on Goshiki's neck. "He's not the man you knew."

"Because of _you_ ," Oikawa hisses, turning his attention onto Semi with an icy glare. "You did this to him!"

Releasing Hajime, Oikawa stalks toward Semi, all his anger and pain from before rushing back. Semi turns to confront him, but it's obvious he isn't strong enough for a fight. Even as he lifts his hand to ward off Oikawa's attack, his arm trembles. His shield isn't strong enough under the brunt of Oikawa's rage, and when their magic collides, Semi crumples to the ground.

"I'll protect you, Semi-san!" Goshiki cries, planting himself in front of Oikawa.

Oikawa throws his magic and is surprised by the strength of the boy's block. It absorbs Oikawa's magic easily, and when Goshiki unleashes his counter attack, Oikawa has to dig his heels into the dirt to avoid getting knocked down.

_Damn, this kid is stronger than he looks._

"What's this? You guys started the party without me?" Tendou asks, stepping onto the scene. His smile is manic, eyes wild. There are branches and leaves stuck in his unruly red hair, dirt smudged on his clothing and exposed skin.

"What took you so long?" Semi gripes, bracing himself with one hand on a tree, as he slowly pushes himself back onto his feet.

"I got lost," Tendou says. "This forest will try to kill you if you're not careful!"

Oikawa ducks under Goshiki's next attack, flinging his magic forward at the same time, hoping to catch the faerie off-guard. But he deflects it, hissing as the magic singes his hand, not having shielded himself quickly enough.

"You again," Tendou says, turning to look at Oikawa. "I see you found your human. Why don't you just take him and leave? You have no loyalty toward these faeries. They're not your family or your friends. We can take you home, or you can stay here, but, really, isn't it more appealing to just stay out of our way? Why exert yourself?"

Oikawa pauses to take a breath, frowning at Tendou. He makes a good point, he admits grudgingly. He could simply take Hajime and leave. But he owes Karasuno a debt. Sugawara saved Hajime's life. He brought him back to Oikawa. He doesn't take that lightly.

And besides, he doesn't believe Semi can do nothing to help Hajime return to his former self. There has to be a way. A spell or a potion of some kind.

"He's angry that his human appears to be without empathy," Semi says, straightening.

"We're wasting time," Ushijima states. "Kenjirou, have you unlocked the portal?"

Shirabu grits his teeth. "Not yet," he mutters. "There seems to be some sort of fail-safe on it. Only an official Guardian can open the portal."

"Can you bypass the fail-safe?"

"I'm trying."

Tendou claps his hands. "Well, it's only a matter of time before Kenji-chan figures it out, so you should run along if you're not going to join us."

"Not until he fixes Hajime," Oikawa says, rubbing at a knot in his side, as he frowns at Semi.

"Like I said, there's nothing I can do. He's closed himself off. Surely, you can sense it yourself."

Oikawa hesitates, glancing toward Hajime. He reaches out with his aura tentatively, searching. When it comes in contact with Hajime's, he shivers at how cold it feels. It's subdued, flickering just beneath Hajime's skin, like it's locked away in a glass box. Oikawa bites his lip.

How much pain does he have trapped in there?

It's not like Hajime to not feel. Oikawa's never known anyone who feels as much as Hajime does. Honestly, he always thought Hajime _should_ work less on emotion and more on analytical thinking. But the fact that his heart is so large is one of the things Oikawa loves about his best friend.

_It wasn't his fault. He was under a spell. He shouldn't be blaming himself._

"Iwa-chan . . ."

"USHIJIMA!"

A shout from the edge of the trees draws the attention of everyone gathered. Bursting into the clearing is a small band of faeries, armed to the teeth. Oikawa blinks, recognizing the Karasuno queen's two bodyguards (what were their names? Tanaka and Nishinoya?), as well as the two Guardians in training.

They don’t waste time talking, but immediately throw themselves, metal and magic, at Ushijima. Shirabu nearly drops the pendant in his haste to fling up a shield in front of his king. Semi rushes forward, but his legs give out beneath him. Tendou leaps over him with a yell, meeting the attackers with swirls of golden magic. Goshiki joins the fray as well, while the other Shiratorizawa faeries standing by finally spring into action.

Everything is chaos. Metal hits metal as those with swords engage, while the burn of magic permeates the air, golden light flashing sporadically. Oikawa uses this distraction to fling himself at Hajime, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward the trees. He's not sure if Hajime will try to protect himself, and he doesn't want him caught in the cross-fire.

The temptation to keep running is strong, but Oikawa forces himself to turn back, bringing forth his magic to assist Karasuno.

He takes only two steps away from Hajime when he's confronted by Tanaka.

"That's the one that killed Suga!" he yells, pointing his sword at Hajime.

"Wait!" Oikawa says, panic rising in him swiftly.

But Tanaka's already attacking, magic swirling around his sword as he lunges at Hajime.

Time moves in slow motion. Oikawa sees Hajime turn toward Tanaka, his eyes already dead, acceptance settling over his features. A flash of memory nearly sends him to his knees. The image of Hajime in his arms, blood spilling from his mouth, as his own blade protrudes from his chest.

He can't let this happen again.

He won't let it.

"TOORU!"

Blinking, Oikawa looks into the startled face of Tanaka. He releases the sword, hopping back a step. Oikawa stares at the ground, wondering why the sword isn't lying there if Tanaka dropped it. But then he notices the blood dripping onto the grass.

_Oh. That's mine._

His legs buckle, but before he falls he feels arms wrap around him, catching him. He's lowered gently, lying across someone's lap.

Hajime's lap.

"Tooru, you _dumbass_ ," Hajime gasps, his fingers like iron digging into his arm and side. His eyes are clear and screaming with pain. "Why the hell did you do that?"

Oikawa grins, relief flooding him as he watches the man he loves come back to life. "I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't just stood there like an idiot," he wheezes, realizing it's getting difficult to breathe. He doesn't feel anything hurting yet, but he figures that's just because his body is in shock.

Hajime's jaw clenches. "I deserve to die for what I did."

Oikawa reaches up and presses his finger against Hajime's lips. "This self-pitying thing doesn't suit you. You know better than that."

"Tooru . . ."

"It wasn't your fault," Oikawa says, shaking his head. His limbs feel weak, and his hand drops to his side. Hajime catches it in his and holds it firmly. Dimly, he's aware of those still fighting in the center of the clearing, but he can't find the strength to sit up and check on how things are going.

"You were under a spell; it wasn't your fault."

Hajime glances at the sword sticking out from Oikawa's chest, teeth running along his bottom lip, as he grimaces. "Is this not my fault either?"

"Obviously. I'm the one that jumped in front of you. We're even now, by the way."

Hajime frowns. "How are we even?"

"Well, you died for me, and now I'm dying for you."

Hajime's grip tightens. "You're not going to die."

"I'm pretty sure getting a sword through the chest means I'm going to die, Iwa-chan; you should know."

There's a shout from the battlefield, and Hajime looks up, his expression clearing. Relief fills his eyes, and Oikawa struggles to turn his head to catch a glimpse of what's happening. The clearing has suddenly filled with golden light so bright it appears almost white.

"Ah, has the king returned?" Oikawa asks, squinting against the brightness.

"Looks like it," Hajime says, a smile forming on his lips.

Oikawa wants to lean up and kiss that smile, but he finds himself starting to fade out of consciousness instead.

"Make sure he knows I was good and didn't destroy anyone even though I could have."

Hajime passes his hand through Oikawa's hair gently. "I'm sure he already knows."

"I want milk bread when I wake up," Oikawa says, before turning his face into Hajime's stomach and allowing the darkness to consume him, peaceful in the knowledge that everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	27. in the name of love

 

 

 

 

for like a shaft, clear and cold,  
the thought pierced him that in the end  
the Shadow was only a small and passing thing:  
there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.

\--j.r.r tolkien, _the lord of the rings_

* * *

 

 

Iwaizumi watches everything happen from the forest floor, holding Tooru across his lap where he'd fallen. He watches Sugawara stride into the clearing with Bokuto and Akaashi at his sides, watches the golden light of magic fill the clearing like a sunrise, stunning all those present. Shiratorizawa and Karasuno fighters alike crumple to the ground, and Sugawara surveys them all with hands on his hips.

"I leave for less than a day, and you all start attacking each other! Honestly, what would this place do without me?"

He walks over to where Shirabu is lying on his back, scowling up at the faerie king, as he plucks the pendant from his limp grasp.

"I see the fail-safe worked. I knew that would come in handy one day." He clucks his tongue, shaking his head at Shirabu. "You have a lot of potential, young one. Have you ever considered joining Karasuno?"

"Fuck you," Shirabu gasps, fingers twitching but apparently unable to move anything else. Bokuto and Akaashi remain at the edge of the clearing, hands outstretched, no doubt keeping the Shiratorizawa faeries from fighting back.

Sugawara grins. "Ushijima, you don't teach your staff manners?" He looks over at the fallen king, who stares back at Sugawara impassively.

"He speaks a sentiment I, too, share," Ushijima says without inflection. "You are condemning the human world to a violent end."

"Perhaps I simply have more faith and patience than you do," Sugawara says with a slight shrug. He turns to his own people, then, gesturing for Akaashi and Bokuto to release them.

Hinata, Kageyama, Nishinoya, and Tanaka sit up quickly, jumping to their feet and shuffling, eyes on the ground.

"As for you four," Sugawara says, before bopping each of them on the head hard enough for them to yelp and clutch at their skulls. "That's for rushing in without consulting Daichi. I appreciate the loyalty, but you were greatly outnumbered. Also . . ." He trails off, looking over Tanaka's shoulder to where Iwaizumi sits. His eyes fall to Tooru, and his gaze softens.

Iwaizumi feels a lump rise in his throat. "You don't owe us anything," he says, as Sugawara makes his way over. "We weren't even able to stop Shiratorizawa from attacking you. But please . . ." He looks down to the young man in his lap, his demon markings visible, along with his claws and horns. Iwaizumi strokes one gently, remembering how Tooru shuddered under his touch before.

"He did his best to help you. He tried everything he could to stop Ushijima. And he got like this because he protected me . . . I didn't even deserve it." Iwaizumi can feel tears burning his eyes. "I don't deserve your kindness, I know that. Not after what I did. But he does. So please . . . please heal him."

Sugawara gives him a faint smile. Without a word, he reaches out and places one hand on Tooru's chest, carefully pulling the sword from his chest. Iwaizumi has to look away as he does, staring at Tooru's face instead, running his fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

He hears Sugawara speak a spell, can hear the weakness of his voice as the magic draws energy from him, and he feels guilty for the relief that washes over him, as the color returns to Tooru's face.

Sugawara sits back with a tired sigh, and Tooru's eyes flutter open. He blinks blearily for a moment before his gaze focuses on Iwaizumi.

"Iwa-chan . . . where's my milk bread?"

Iwaizumi's laugh strangles itself on a sob. " _That's_ the first thing you ask?" he asks, shaking his head. "You're so annoying." He bends down to kiss him deeply. Tooru murmurs against his lips, returning the kiss gently. He mews in protest when Iwaizumi pulls away, but he looks up at Sugawara.

"Thank you," he says gratefully, another pang of guilt hitting him when he catches sight of how pale he looks.

Sugawara nods, moving to stand slowly. Instantly, Tanaka and Nishinoya are at his side, allowing him to lean on them.

"We're sorry, Sugawara-sama," Tanaka says, looping his king's arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you back to the palace."

"No," Sugawara says, shaking his head.

As Iwaizumi stands and helps Tooru to his feet, Sugawara turns and beckons Kageyama toward him. The two Guardians glance at each other, before the taller faerie steps closer, scowling faintly as he bows.

"I need you to use the pendant to send King Ushijima and his people somewhere they can never hurt anyone ever again."

Kageyama's eyes widen. "You want . . . _me_ to do that?"

"Wait, wait, wait, what are you doing?" Tendou calls from his place on the ground. "You're sending us to another realm? That's practically condemning us to death!"

Sugawara grins brightly, despite the pallor to his skin. "I'll send you someplace nice! And we'll check up on you, don't worry. And if I see you're behaving yourself, then maybe you can return. Only, Ushijima won't be king anymore, of course."

"You can't do that," Semi hisses from beside Tendou.

"I think I'm being rather fair, considering you all had me assassinated."

Iwaizumi flinches, and Tooru takes his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

Sugawara hands the pendant to Kageyama, smiling encouragingly. "Have you read about any peaceful realms where they will be safe?"

Kageyama hesitates only briefly before nodding.

Sugawara smiles. "Good. Call up one of those. You've practiced this spell many times. I'm counting on you."

Kageyama nods again, gripping the pendant in his hand. He inhales deeply, letting the air out slowly.

"Don't be nervous, Kageyama-kun!" Hinata yells from behind him.

Kageyama glares at him. "I'm not!" he shouts back, and this seems to strengthen his resolve. His shoulders straighten, and he lifts his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal the sphere on his palm. The magic within it glows, spiraling outward as he says the spell to create the portal.

The ground shimmers, the grass rippling like water. Sugawara gestures for Bokuto and Akaashi to release the Shiratorizawa faeries, and they all stand slowly, watching the portal warily.

"How do we know it's safe?" Tendou asks, his arm wrapped around Semi's waist to help support him.

"I'd be happy to take one of you there with me," Sugawara says. He turns to Ushijima and offers his hand.

After a moment Ushijima steps forward. "I will go with you," he says. "But do not harm any of my faeries in my absence."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sugawara says, giving Bokuto and Akaashi a pointed look. They move closer, as Sugawara and Ushijima step into the portal and disappear.

"At ease, gentlemen," Tendou says with a weary wave. "Eita's in no position to use mind control on anyone."

"These soldiers are trained in mind control as well," Iwaizumi says pointedly.

Tendou frowns at him. "They report directly to Eita. If he doesn't give them an order, they won't do anything."

"How obedient," Tooru says mildly.

A few minutes later, Sugawara and Ushijima emerge from the portal. Noya and Tanaka immediately run over to catch Sugawara, who stumbles and nearly falls. Ushijima turns to his people.

"It is a good realm," he admits. "There is plenty of fertile land and our magic will be sustainable."

"It'll still be a prison," Semi mutters.

"What will happen to the rest of my kingdom?" Ushijima asks, turning to Sugawara. "The citizens are innocent."

"I'll give them the choice to either join Karasuno or join you. They will be treated well in either case."

Ushijima nods in satisfaction. "Thank you."

Tendou grins tightly. "You're far too polite, Wakatoshi."

"Tsutomu shouldn't be sentenced to the same fate as us," Shirabu says suddenly, stepping up and grabbing the young faerie by the arm. "He had nothing to do with any of this."

Goshiki startles. "But Kenjirou, I don't want to stay here all by myself! I want to go with you!"

Shirabu growls. "Don't be stupid. You'll be trapped there."

"You'll be able to stay at the palace in Shiratorizawa," Sugawara offers. "Nothing about your lifestyle will have to change."

But Goshiki shakes his head. Pulling his arm out of Shirabu's grasp, he grabs the faerie's hand instead. "Ushijima-sama, Tendou-san, Semi-san, Kenjirou . . . they're my family. I want to stay with them."

Shirabu clenches his teeth. "You little—"

Goshiki throws his arms around Shirabu's neck, hugging him tightly. "Please continue taking care of me, Kenji!"

Tendou laughs aloud, as Shirabu's face grows red. "Get off me," he says, squirming in Goshiki's grasp. He finally resorts to punching the boy in the stomach. Goshiki releases him with a gasp, and Shirabu grabs his ear, giving it a sharp tug. "And don't say that so casually!"

Goshiki's eye water from the pain, but he's grinning happily.

"Ah, young love," Tendou says wistfully. "Maybe the years spent together will make Eita-kun fond of me too."

"Don't bet on it," Semi mutters.

Ushijima steps forward, lifting his hands to the side. "Thank you for everything you have all done for me. I apologize for failing you."

The mood grows serious, as the Shiratorizawa fae look to their king. Shirabu releases Goshiki to bow deeply to Ushijima.

"You've never failed us, my king," he says quickly. "We are still happy to serve you."

"Until our dying days," Tendou adds, as Semi and Goshiki nod.

Ushijima nods, lowering his arms. He turns to Sugawara. "How long is this sentence?"

"In a hundred years we'll speak again," Sugawara says.

Ushijima bows slightly. "It was never my intention to harm anyone," he says, as he straightens. "I did not give the order to assassinate your Guardian."

Sugawara's smile is thin. "I will let you deal with the insubordination yourself," he says, and his gaze moves to Semi, who avoids eye contact. "But I suggest you show them mercy, as I know they acted out of love and loyalty to you."

"I will take that under advisement."

Iwaizumi looks on, stunned, as Sugawara and Ushijima shake hands, before Ushijima leads his people into the portal. None of them look back, except for Tendou, who waves at Sugawara and says, "if you find a black cat at the palace, take care of him for me, will you?"

When the last of them have entered, Kageyama releases the portal and the ground becomes firm once more.

"You want Semi to be treated mercifully? After what he did to Iwa-chan? What he tried to do to Sawamura?" Tooru asks, disbelief coloring his tone.

"I apologize if I ruined your revenge, but I think we've had enough fighting for today," Sugawara says, shaking his head.

"It's fine," Iwaizumi says, realizing that Sugawara is forgiving him as well.

"But—" Tooru sputters, but Iwaizumi elbows him in the side, effectively shutting him up.

Sugawara smiles, but the lines in his face appear deeper than before. "Let's go home," he says to the rest gathered.

Bokuto and Akaashi join the group as they head back into Karasuno, Bokuto exclaiming over how powerful he's gotten, asking Akaashi if he saw how easily he held down the Shiratorizawa troops. Hinata badgers Kageyama to let him hold the pendant, saying it's not fair that he got to open the portal and he didn't, while Kageyama insists that it's because he's better at portal magic than Hinata.

It's all very warm and domestic, and Iwaizumi feels a pang of longing in his chest. When Tooru steps forward to follow, he hangs back, looking at the trees around them. Without the sound of battle, the clearing is quiet, peaceful. He closes his eyes, wondering what all will be waiting for them when they get back to Karasuno. Another feast? A debriefing? He doesn't imagine the rest of the Karasuno fae will be as forgiving as their king. Will he be punished for his actions?

And when they return to Tokyo, what will happen then? Will Tooru be hunted for opening the Hell Mouth? Will either of them be allowed to return to Aoba Johsai? Or will they be on the run for the rest of their lives?

Iwaizumi is tired. He's tired of fighting, of running, of always looking over his shoulder. It feels as though his life has been going one hundred meters per second ever since he and Tooru turned nineteen.

"Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi opens his eyes. Tooru's noticed his absence and has turned back. He looks at him quizzically. "What's wrong?"

Iwaizumi lifts his hands to the side, gesturing to the trees around them. "What if we just . . . stayed here?"

Tooru's eyes widen.

"Not forever," he amends quickly. "Just . . . for a little while. I think we could use a break, don't you?"

Tooru grins, stepping closer to him. "Are you asking me to run away with you, Iwa-chan?" he asks teasingly.

Iwaizumi smiles faintly. "I guess I am."

Tooru grabs his hands. "Sounds exciting," he chirps. "Where will we go?"

Iwaizumi grips his hands tightly. "Wherever. Anywhere. I don't care."

"So long as I'm with you?" Tooru finishes for him with a knowing smirk.

Iwaizumi feels his face warming. "If you don't mind."

"Why would I mind?" Tooru asks, his eyes widening.

"Well . . . you're going to be stuck with me for a while . . ."

"Hajime," Tooru says, releasing his hands in order to grab his face. He squishes his cheeks together. "That sounds like heaven."

Iwaizumi's face burns, but he simply nods, relief flooding through him. He reaches up to take Tooru's elbows. "I-I'm sorry. For—"

Tooru cuts him off, kissing him deeply. Instantly, Iwaizumi melts into it, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Tooru isn't upset with him. He still loves him.

And right now, that's all he needs.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Kenma sits alone in the infirmary after Sugawara leaves with Keiji and Koutarou. The renewal spell nearly drained him of all his energy, and he could barely stand when it was over. So Keiji told him to stay put and left him behind.

He can't blame them, really. He knows he'd be useless in a fight right now.

But sitting here, with only the demon in his head, and the pulse of Kuroo's aura against his chest, he can't help but feel a tightness in his skin.

_When will they be back?_

_[how am i supposed to know?]_

_Do you think Sugawara can bring Kuroo back?_

_[only time will tell . . .]_

Kenma runs his hands down his face, falling back against the bed he's seated on. He closes his eyes, lowering his hands from his face after a moment.

_Why did you agree to save me?_

The demon is quiet for a moment. _[i told you. tetsurou has earned my respect. he wanted me to save you, so i did.]_

_Are you sure it's not because you care about him?_

_[i'm a demon. i care for nobody.]_

Kenma snorts softly. _Yet you warned him what would happen if you left him._ He bites his lip. _Was he . . . afraid? Before you left?_

The demon sounds subdued. _[there was some fear. but mostly there was relief. he wanted to save you more than he was afraid to die.]_

Kenma's eyes burn with tears, and he fights them back as best he can. He remembers how firmly Kuroo held him, as they kissed. The desperation in his voice when he told Kenma he loved him for what he probably assumed would be the last time he ever got to say it.

But there has to be a way to get him back. He's still here, in some form. Kenma reaches to touch the stone around his neck, feeling the warmth emanating from it, the beat of its pulse. This is all that's left of Kuroo, but it has to be enough.

It has to be.

Kenma tries to think, focusing his thoughts on what he knows. The demon said that the body Kuroo had wasn't his. That his true body is buried wherever Kenta put it. Well, Kenma has Kenta's memories, doesn't he? He can access them to find out where he buried Kuroo after he killed him.

_[i know where you're going with this, but the karasuno king won't be able to revive him. the body would be too far decayed by now.]_

Kenma frowns.

"I'm just saying! I could've done it just as well as you did!"

Kenma opens his eyes, as he hears Shouyou's voice from outside the infirmary. He sits up, listening to Kageyama's reply.

"No, you couldn't have, dumbass. I've been studying more than you."

"I've been studying too!"

"You're always messing around with Bokuto-san to practice magic, not actually studying about portal pendants."

"You have to be strong in magic to be a Guardian! Not everyone is natural talent at it like you, Bakayama."

Kenma's eyes widen. He scrambles off the bed, stumbling slightly, as he rushes to the door. He slides it open so quickly it rattles the rice paper wall, and Shouyou yelps, jumping in front of Kageyama with his fists raised. When he sees Kenma, his eyes widen, and he lowers his hands.

"Kenma! Are you okay? You look sick."

"Can you use the portals to travel through time?" Kenma asks Kageyama breathlessly, looking up at the young faerie. His scowling face and intensity have always intimidated Kenma, and for that reason, he usually keeps a wide berth. So it's not surprising that Kageyama's initial response is to stare at him in blank shock.

"To do what now?" Shouyou breaks the silence with a curious chirp.

"I need to travel through time. I need to go back to the day when Kuroo died."

"Why?" Kageyama asks, scowling in confusion.

Kenma looks between them, wondering how this isn't obvious.

"To save him."

 

 

 

 

 

Sugawara taps his chin, looking thoughtful. "This could work," he says after a moment, startling all those present.

"Wait, really?!" Koutarou exclaims, grabbing Kenma's shoulders from behind and shaking him back and forth. "Holy shit! That's awesome! Let's go! Let's go right now!"

"Koutarou, there are a lot of things to consider," Keiji says, pulling him off of Kenma. "We have no idea what type of situation we'll be walking into. We have to be prepared."

"Well, yes it's true that there was a war going on during that time," Sugawara admits. "But I highly doubt Kenta would have buried him anywhere near a battlefield, so you should be safe."

"We've never used the portals to travel through time before," Sawamura admits. He stands beside his king, his arm in a sling. "Though I suppose it is possible."

"Tobio, have you encountered anything like this in your studies?" Sugawara asks, turning to the young faerie beside him.

"Hey! Why are you asking him?!" Shouyou exclaims.

Sugawara indulges him, looking toward him with a raise of his eyebrows, a faint grin playing about his lips. "Have you encountered anything like time travel in your studies, Shouyou?"

"No," Shouyou admits sullenly.

From behind the king, Tsukishima rolls his eyes, while Yamaguchi snickers.

"So, Tobio." Sugawara turns back to him. "Do you recall anything?"

Kageyama frowns down at the floor in concentration. Kenma finds himself leaning forward, breath caught in his throat, as blood rushes in his ears. Finally, Kageyama looks up and nods.

"There's a spell," he says.

Koutarou whoops, pumping his fist in the air. "Hey, hey, hey! Let's go save Tetsurou!"

Sawamura pulls the pendant from his neck, passing it to Kageyama with a nod. "Can you handle this?"

Kageyama swallows hard before nodding back.

"We're going to need shovels," Keiji says. "And a mask for Kenma. We can't have anyone spotting us and thinking he's Kenta."

Sugawara nods and gestures for Tsukishima and Yamaguchi to fetch them. Keiji reaches for Kenma's hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Don't worry," he says softly. "We're going to get him back."

Kenma grips his hand tightly, taking comfort in the warmth of it and in the slow stroke of Keiji's thumb across his knuckles.

Koutarou is practically vibrating in impatience by the time the guards return. Koutarou and Keiji each take a shovel, and Sugawara gently places a dragon mask over Kenma's head. He punches his shoulder, then, lightly.

"Go get your man," he says. "I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Kenma nods, grateful for his support. He knows he's asking a lot, especially when Sugawara isn't at his full strength. But the faerie king only smiles at him, his eyes full of hopeful encouragement. Turning back to Keiji, Kenma takes his hand once more. Koutarou steps up between them, wrapping both arms around their waists.

"What year did Kuroo die?" Kageyama asks, holding the swirling pendant before him.

"It was 600 years ago . . ." Kenma says, closing his eyes and drawing up Kenta's memories. It's easier than it usually is, and he wonders if the demon is helping. "It was spring . . . March. March 23rd. It was in a clearing outside of a village. Um, what's now Setagaya-ku."

Kageyama nods, and after a moment the floor in front of them begins to shimmer and ripple like water.

"On three," Keiji says. "One—"

"THREE!" Koutarou yells, shoving them all forward into the portal.

Kenma's submerged in icy blackness, and he feels a pull like wind blowing against his hair and skin. A moment later he's stumbling onto brown grass, dry and scorched. For a moment he trembles, afraid Kageyama sent them to the wrong month, but then he looks up and sees why the ground is barren.

In the distance a fire rages through a village. Black smoke swirls above it, and Kenma can sense the presence of evil even from so far away. He gags, dry-heaving, and he can hear Keiji and Koutarou doing the same, as they are also affected by whatever dark magic is hovering in the air.

"Is this what you did?" Kenma croaks softly, fighting against the pressure in his chest.

_[this is what daishou suguru did; in his attempt to open the hell mouth.]_

"But you helped him. With Kuroo's body you helped."

_[. . . yes.]_

"Kenma!" Keiji places a hand on his back. "We have to move. We don't know how long Kageyama can keep the portal open."

Koutarou grabs his arm, helping him to his feet. His expression is serious, and his eyes flash darkly. "If I ever get my hands on the demon that made Tetsurou do this, I'm going to kill it."

_[that's fair.]_

"It's this way," Kenma says, pointing to a grove not far from where they arrived.

The three of them make their way toward it, using the shovels to push aside low-hanging branches. They come to a clearing, and Kenma knows immediately that they're in the right place.

In the center of the grove, the grass is a vibrant green, full of life. There are wildflowers of all shapes and sizes and colors growing around a stone that's been placed in the middle of the clearing, and on the stone is carved in delicate script: _Kuroo Tetsurou_.

Kenma swallows back the lump that's forming in his throat, as he reaches out to trace the first name with his fingertips. It feels wrong to disturb such a peaceful place, a place Kenta no doubt created specifically for Kuroo.

But he needs Kuroo back.

He steps away, touching the stone around his neck, as Koutarou shoves his weight against the stone. He rolls it away with some difficulty, the muscles in his arms bulging. Keiji pushes the shovel into the dirt, then, and starts to dig.

It doesn't take long for them to hit a wooden box, and together they lift it out of the hole. Keiji then uses his magic to return everything to the way it was before, and Kenma pries open the box.

Kuroo lies still and pale, hands folded on his chest. There's blood on his kimono, right above his heart, where Kenta's blade pierced him. If it wasn't for that, he almost appears to be sleeping. Kenma reaches for his face, stroking the cold plane of his cheek.

"If this works and we bring him back . . . will he even remember me?" Kenma asks softly, the sudden thought only coming to him now.

"That soul you have around your neck is Tetsurou's," Keiji says. "That's the Tetsurou we're bringing back. That's the Tetsurou who loves you."

Koutarou gives his shoulder a squeeze before gently pushing him out of the way. He reaches into the box and pulls Kuroo out, draping him over his shoulder.

"Let's get out of here," he says. "This place gives me the creeps."

They hurry for the portal. Kenma spares one last glance to the burning village, wondering if Kenta is there trying to help the citizens. What will he think if he returns and realizes what happened?

_We covered our tracks. There's no way he can know._

Solidifying that thought in his head, Kenma steps through the portal with Keiji and Koutarou. The cold wind blasts through him once more. Just before he stumbles out into the warm light of the Karasuno throne room, he feels something scratch his arm. Hissing softly, he looks down at it, frowning faintly as he watches three long red welts rise up on his skin. He rubs at them absently, glancing around, but there's nobody in the throne room that shouldn't be.

 _It was probably just Keiji,_ he reasons.

_[probably.]_

The demon doesn't sound convinced, but Kenma has more important things to worry about.

 

 

 

 

 

They take Kuroo's body to the infirmary. Sugawara sits beside him, holding his hand out for the stone. Despite knowing this is what he needs to revive Kuroo, Kenma finds himself reluctant to hand it over. His fingers linger on the warm stone, as he places it in Sugawara's palm.

Sugawara gives him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," he says. "This is the easy part."

He places the stone on Kuroo's chest, then touches his forehead with one hand, and his wound with the other. Closing his eyes, Sugawara gathers his magic, pulling it close around him. Kenma inhales sharply, feeling the power of it keenly.

_[he wasn't so weak after all, it seems.]_

_Or else he's giving everything he has left._

The stone on Kuroo's chest glows, golden light shining from it, and growing brighter as it expands. It covers the length of Kuroo's body, encasing him in a shimmering shroud, before slowly sinking into his skin. It glitters like diamonds, lingering briefly, before disappearing completely. Kuroo gasps, his chest expanding so violently that he arches off the bed.

Kenma throws himself forward, grabbing Kuroo's hand in both of his, practically shoving Sugawara to the side in order to do so. The faerie king laughs softly, moving to stand.

"We'll give you both some privacy," he says, gesturing for the rest of the group to follow him outside.

Kenma barely notices; his eyes are fixed on Kuroo's face, on the color returning to his cheeks. Slowly, Kuroo's eyes open. He blinks, rapidly, and his brows furrow slightly.

Kenma holds his breath, waiting for him to notice him.

"Kenta?"

Kenma's heart plummets into his stomach, and he feels drenched in ice cold water. He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes, as pressure builds against his chest. He can't speak, afraid his words will catch on a sob. He bites his lip instead, gripping Kuroo's hand tighter. Kuroo blinks again, his gaze focusing.

"No . . . you're not Kenta," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. He moves his free hand, reaching up to brush Kenma's hair away from his face, tucking the strands tenderly behind his ear. A faint smile quirks his lips. "I know you," he says warmly.

"Do you?" Kenma asks, unable to help it. His voice quivers, as he sniffs back the tears that threaten to spill over.

Kuroo strokes his thumb over Kenma's cheek, moving down to his lips to pass over them slowly.

"Kenma," he breathes, with love, with adoration, and Kenma breaks at the sound.

He flings himself across Kuroo's chest, gripping him tightly. "You idiot. You _idiot_ ," he sobs. "Don't _ever_ do that to me again. Don't ever sacrifice yourself for me again!"

"I can't promise that," Kuroo admits, even as he runs his fingers through Kenma's hair, holding him around the waist with his other arm. "I would do anything to keep you safe."

Kenma pulls away, his face flushed, as anger and relief war within him. He scowls down at Kuroo's face. "Then don't lie to me. Promise me you won't lie to me."

"If I'd told you the truth, would you have let me do it?"

Kenma punches his stomach. "Promise me!"

"Ow," Kuroo grimaces, rubbing the spot. He grins then, tilting his head against the pillow. "I don't think I've ever seen you this worked up before. I really upset you, huh?"

"Stop gloating," Kenma mutters, wiping at his nose with the edge of his sleeve, as he turns away.

The bed shifts, as Kuroo sits up behind him. Kenma stiffens, as he feels Kuroo's arm wrap around his waist, but he can't help but lean back into his chest, Kuroo's warm breath tickling his neck.

"I'm sorry," Kuroo murmurs, placing a soft kiss against his skin. "I won't lie to you again. I promise."

Kenma exhales shakily, relief finally winning out. He twists around to face Kuroo and blinks in surprise at the pain in his eyes.

"Do you forgive me?" he asks.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Kenma says, reaching up to grab a handful of his hair. He pulls him down to kiss him, deeply, and Kuroo's arm tightens around his waist, as he returns the kiss.

Kenma kisses him and kisses him until he can taste the salt of Kuroo's tears on his lips, and then he kisses him some more.

He pushes him back against the bed, climbing on top of him, as his lips move over Kuroo's face: his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his chin.

"Don't ever leave me again," he murmurs. "Promise me."

"I promise," Kuroo gasps, the tears still falling, as he clutches Kenma close to his chest.

"Say you love me."

"I do. I love you."

"Say my name."

"Kenma."

"Again."

"Kenma."

Trembling, Kenma presses his forehead against Kuroo's, his own tears mingling with those already on Kuroo's face. "Again," he whispers.

Kuroo's hands curl into his sides, anchoring him, grounding him to this place, this moment, this reality.

" _Kenma._ "

Kenma sighs shakily, the rest of his anger and pain leaving him, as love and relief and satisfaction settle in their place. He knows who he is. He knows who Kuroo is, too.

"Tetsurou," he murmurs.

He reaches out with his aura, brushing against Tetsurou's. It feels different from before. There's no darkness, he didn't expect there would be, but it's also weak. Like that of a non-magic user.

_[this is the tetsurou from before i possessed him. the one without magic who first met kenta.]_

Kenma slides his aura down Tetsurou's body beneath him, feeling him quiver at the touch. He presses firmer, trying to find that place to lock on and pull Tetsurou in. To make their auras one.

_He's still my Tetsurou._

He feels the click as a rush of heat and pleasure and power rippling through him. He cries out softly at the sensation, and he hears Tetsurou moan, feels his chest vibrate with the sound.

The auras pulsate around them, a rapid yet steady beat that surrounds them at all sides, pressing in and then releasing. A single aura. A single heartbeat.

Kenma trembles, clutching Tetsurou's shoulders, as his lips find his once more. Tetsurou leans up into the kiss, his own body shuddering at the onslaught of sensations. Kenma squeezes his eyes shut, deepening the kiss and pouring his whole heart into it, into each movement of his lips, each stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth.

 _I love you,_ he says with his kiss. _I love you. I love you._

He doesn't need to read Tetsurou's mind to hear his response.

_**I love you too.** _

 

 

 

***

 

 

Bokuto knows he's selfish. He also knows his selfishness has caused pain to the people he loves. He tries to justify it, reminding himself that he's compensating for the bad thoughts and feelings that often creep into his head and heart. He clings to people because he's afraid of losing them. He needs attention because he's afraid of disappearing. He craves love because he's afraid he's unlovable.

But he also knows that if you love someone, you need to put their needs and wants above your own. He's proud of himself for letting Keiji go find the root. He was afraid then for many different reasons, but he did it. And he'd missed Keiji terribly, even with the comfort of Kenma's presence. Some nights he feared he'd never see Keiji again, and he wept at the thought of losing the first person outside of his parents to give him the love and attention he so desperately felt he needed.

He's _so happy_ to have Keiji back, and the last thing he wants is to let him out of his sight.

But as he watches Keiji get changed for bed (despite the slow rise of the sun outside their window), he feels a deep sadness pressing against his chest.

"That was really cool how we held down the entire Shiratorizawa army, huh?" he says, trying to lighten his own mood remembering the moment. "We're really powerful! I bet we could kick some major ass together."

Keiji smiles faintly. "We probably could," he agrees, but his voice is subdued.

_Aw fuck. Does he know what's gotta happen too?_

All he wants is for Keiji to be happy. And while he knows he's happy with him, Bokuto also knows he's not the only thing Keiji needs.

He can't be selfish.

"Hey, hey, Keiji," he says, reaching out to take his hand, pulling him closer to the bed. He's stripped out of his kimono and is standing in a pair of fundoshi, the setting sun casting orange light across his tanned skin. Bokuto bites his lip. "You're really beautiful, you know?" he says, momentarily distracted from what he was going to say.

"Thank you, Koutarou," Keiji says with a small smile, brushing his fingers through Bokuto's hair. "You're rather handsome yourself."

"I know, right?" Bokuto says with a grin, but the weight hasn't left his chest. "I bet Kiyomi's beautiful too, huh?"

Keiji stiffens at the sound of his sister's name. "Kou—"

"You should go see her," Bokuto says earnestly, taking Keiji's other hand. "Her and your parents. You broke the curse, so everything should be okay with them now! You should be able to fix things with them."

Keiji stares down at him. "You're speaking as though you're not planning on going with me," he says finally.

Bokuto grins. "Aw, well, I still got a lot to learn here, you know? Suga's not planning a war anymore, so he's going to have lots of time to teach me stuff! I want to get powerful, Keiji. I want to be able to take care of myself and not have to rely on others all the time. I want to learn more about my faerie ancestry and all that. And . . . I guess I'm still being pretty selfish, but I'm really trying hard not to be! 'Cause if I was being completely selfish, I'd beg you to stay with me. But . . ." He deflates, eyes falling to the floor. "I know this isn't where you need to be right now."

Tears burn the corners of his eyes, making the sight of his and Keiji's feet blurry. He feels a soft touch of fingers beneath his chin, and then Keiji is lifting his head, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead.

Bokuto trembles, it taking all his willpower not to grab Keiji and crush him to his chest and never let him go.

"I admit, I wasn't expecting this," Keiji says softly.

"I want you to be happy," Bokuto mutters. "Even if I'm going to be miserable and lonely without you . . . I mean, I just got you back! Letting you go is the _last_ thing I want. But I know how much you need to be with your family. I-I saw your nightmares . . . what happened to you as a kid and how they treated you . . . that wasn't right." Bokuto shakes his head, his resolve strengthening as he remembers the sound of little Keiji crying, alone and frightened and surrounded by dead toads.

"You gotta give them the chance to make things right. You deserve it."

Keiji eases himself into Bokuto's lap, straddling his thighs and wrapping his arms around Bokuto's neck. Bokuto tries really hard not to be affected by a practically naked Keiji on top of him, though it's incredibly difficult.

"You make me happy, Koutarou," Keiji murmurs against his ear, as he strokes his fingers through his hair. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," Bokuto says, grimacing at the high-pitched squeak that emits from his mouth.

"I was lonely and miserable without you, as well," Keiji continues, scraping his nails lightly against Bokuto's scalp. "I need you to know that."

Bokuto hadn't been completely certain of that, and the tightness in his chest loosens slightly, as he breathes a shaky sigh.

"You missed me that much?" He rests his hands on Keiji's hips, stroking his thumbs along the skin above the waistband of the fundoshi.

"I did."

Bokuto can't help himself. He shifts his hands to Keiji's back and presses him close against his chest, burying his face in the crook of Keiji's warm, soft neck.

"I don't want you to go," he admits, biting back a sob. "I want you to stay with me forever."

"If you think for one second that I'm not going to return to you, you're an idiot."

Bokuto sniffles, frowning at the insult. "Hey," he says, leaning back to frown at Keiji.

Keiji smiles back at him. "But I know you're not an idiot, so don't think of this as goodbye." He runs his fingers through Bokuto's hair once more. "Think of it as a 'see you later.'"

Bokuto nods. Of course they'll see each other again. Bokuto's not going to let someone as amazing as Keiji forget about him. "I'm going to call you every day," he says. "Twice on Sundays. You'll have to introduce me to your family and your sister and tell them all about me. Tell them how I'm a powerful faerie prince who brought an entire army to its knees!"

"That wasn't just you, Koutarou," Keiji reminds him, but his smile is widening.

"Okay, so you can tell them you were there too. But make me sound really impressive so they won't think their son is dating some loser."

Keiji shakes his head. "Even if you weren't a faerie prince, you wouldn't be a loser," he says, placing a soft kiss against Bokuto's lips.

Bokuto draws him in closer, returning the kiss, as he wraps his arms around Keiji, enveloping him as best he can. He kisses him back slowly, though his heart is already pounding faster in anticipation. They haven't had a chance to be intimate since Keiji got back, and he aches for the feel of Keiji's warm, soft skin against his. It's been so long . . .

He turns them over, pressing Keiji into the mattress of the bed. Pulling back, he looks down into Keiji's face, studying it, wanting to sear the image into his mind so it won't disappear any time soon. Keiji reaches for him, tracing his fingers over Bokuto's own face gently.

"Are you memorizing me by heart?" Bokuto asks hopefully.

Keiji lowers his hand and smiles faintly. "I don't need to do that, Koutarou," he says plainly. "I already know you by heart."

Bokuto's ears burn, but he can't stop the grin from stretching across his face. He leans down to kiss him again, and again, as the sun rises higher and bathes them in warmth.

 

 

 

 

 

"You're staying here?"

Tetsurou looks crestfallen, and that's almost as bad as Keiji leaving.

Bokuto scratches the back of his head. "Not forever," he says, shaking his head. "Just to learn some more stuff about magic and being a faerie and all that. I'm gonna come back!"

"You better," Tetsurou says, punching his arm. "I need my best friend."

Bokuto beams.

Kenma's been standing quietly by Tetsurou's side thus far, but he speaks up now.

"It'll be quieter without him."

Bokuto frowns. "Hey!" he exclaims, as Keiji snickers beside him. "Keiji!" He whirls on his boyfriend. "You're supposed to defend me!"

Keiji schools his expression into its usual bask of indifference. "Kenma makes a good point, Koutarou. Things are quieter when you're not around."

Bokuto huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I make things _funner_."

"More fun," Keiji corrects.

"Exactly!"

Tetsurou turns his head away to cough, but his shoulders are shaking in laughter. Bokuto's heart swells, even as his chest aches. He loves them all so much. He doesn't want them to go and leave him behind. But if he wants to get stronger, he knows he's made the right decision. Even so, he presses scrying glasses into Keiji and Tetsurou's hands.

"I'm gonna call every day and you better pick up," he says. "Unless you're sleeping or taking a shit, I guess. Oh! And I guess you're off the hook if you're fucking or something," he offers to Tetsurou and Kenma.

Kenma stares at the ground, while Tetsurou's face turns bright red. He sputters.

"Dude, what the fuck?!"

Bokuto blinks, not understanding what he said wrong. Keiji takes his hand, pulling his attention toward him.

"I'll happily answer every call, Koutarou," he says with such an adoring smile Bokuto can't help but bend down to kiss him.

"You two are so in love it's gross," Tetsurou says, even as he tangles his fingers together with Kenma's.

Bokuto grabs him in a bone crushing hug. "Don't forget about me."

"You're going to ace this magic and return sooner than we can miss you," Tetsurou says.

Bokuto pulls back, glancing at Keiji and Kenma briefly. They both nod their consent, and Bokuto presses a firm kiss against Tetsurou's lips. Tetsurou's startled for a moment, but then he relaxes, placing his free hand against the side of Bokuto's face, as he kisses him back gently. Bokuto lingers for just a few seconds longer, before he breaks away to press his forehead against Tetsurou's.

"You were my first true friend and the first person to believe in me. Thank you."

Tetsurou shoves at his chest. "You're such a sap," he says, but his eyes are watery and his voice breaks slightly. "You, uh, you were those things for me too. In this life. So, I guess I should say thank you, as well."

Bokuto beams before turning to Kenma, bending slightly to wrap him up in a hug. Kenma pats his back lightly.

"You're going to do well here, Koutarou," he says.

"You really think so?" Bokuto asks with a grin, leaning back to look down at him.

Kenma nods, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. The gesture causes Bokuto's chest to squeeze slightly, as he remembers the nights spent curled up against Kenma, taking comfort in the warmth of him, the solidity of him. It was never like holding Keiji, but it was better than sleeping alone.

"You did so much for me while they were gone," he says, getting choked up just thinking about it.

Kenma's eyes widen, and his gaze skitters to the side. Despite Kenma's obvious embarrassment, Bokuto can't help but reach out and cradle the side of his face with his hand. Kenma still won't meet his gaze, and his ears are turning red, but he doesn't shy away when Bokuto tilts his chin in order to kiss him lightly. He doesn't kiss him back, but he doesn't stiffen or punch him either, so Bokuto allows himself to enjoy the feel of his small, soft lips.

"Okay, that's enough," Tetsurou says, putting his hand on Bokuto's shoulder.

Bokuto grins, as Tetsurou wraps his arm around Kenma's shoulders to pull him closer.

"You don't have to be jealous. It's not like you can't kiss him whenever you want!"

"That's true," Tetsurou says, smirking.

Kenma holds up his hand, catching Tetsurou's face in his palm, as he moves it toward Kenma's. "No."

Bokuto laughs, as Tetsurou pouts, and then it's time to face Keiji. His laughter dies in his throat, as he feels a lump grow there. He knows they already said what they needed to the previous night, but with their parting so imminent, he suddenly remembers a hundred other words he wants to say.

"So, um, call me when you get home, okay? So I know you're safe."

"Okay, Koutarou," Keiji says with a soft laugh.

Bokuto picks up his hands, holding them tightly. The door slides open, as Sawamura walks through.

"Are you three ready?" he asks. "It's time."

Bokuto feels a sudden panic, and he wonders if it's too late to take it all back. But then he's surrounded by Keiji, Tetsurou, and even Kenma, as they wrap their arms around him in a group hug.

"You're going to do great," Tetsurou murmurs in his ear. "You'll be the best faerie prince there ever was."

The pressure against his chest eases, as Keiji adds, "I'll tell my parents all about you. I'm sure they'll look forward to meeting you."

Kenma mutters, "We'll see you soon."

Bokuto wants them to never let go, but when it's time he finds that he doesn't ache as much as he thought he would. There's some pain, yes, but it's bearable with the knowledge that this parting won't last forever.

And when the door slides shut once more, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Come," Suga says, with a refreshing smile so full of excitement, Bokuto feels a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. "There's much to show you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter is the epilogue! we'll get to see some old, familiar faces too! let's see if i can't get this done in time for a new year of exciting stories! thank you all for sticking with me for so long! your support and encouragement are very much appreciated! <333
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	28. this is home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I . . . kind of can't believe that this is the end. I've been working on this fic for over a year now, and it has surpassed everything I expected for it. I never dreamed it would become so loved and that I would meet so many amazing people through it, but I'm so grateful and I feel very blessed. Thank you, every single one of you, for reading and for all the kudos and comments and tweets and art and for sticking with me this past year.
> 
> You are all wonderful. <3

 

 

 

 

so, this is my life.  
and i want you to know that i am both happy and sad  
and i'm still trying to figure out how that could be.

\-- stephen chbosky, _the perks of being a wallflower_

* * *

 

 

 

Suga stands just outside his room, holding his elbows as he looks out over the balcony to what he can see of the city beyond the palace walls. The sun is just rising, the city slowly waking as the shopkeepers start setting up their displays. It’s quiet, peaceful, almost jarringly so after the chaos that reigned just three days ago.

“You’ve always been pensive in the mornings.”

A quiet voice causes him to smile faintly, though he doesn’t turn around, as Kiyoko steps up beside him. She follows his gaze to the rest of Karasuno, and Suga watches her profile. She’s always been beautiful, but there’s something about the glow of the morning sun on her face right now that makes her look radiant. He can’t help but reach out to tuck a flyaway strand of dark hair behind her ear, his chest aching.

“The palace staff at Shiratorizawa have decided to join their king in the other dimension, but there’s still the rest of the citizens. The chief of staff says they’ll likely be unwilling to follow someone from Karasuno. Someone from Shiratorizawa on the other hand . . .”

Kiyoko turns to look at him. “You think they’d follow me,” she says, her eyes never wavering from his face.

Suga nods, resisting the urge to bite his lip, though his stomach squirms uneasily. “Technically, you are their queen. After your father died . . . you were next in line for the throne. You would have ruled if it weren’t for your marriage to me. But I can have our marriage annulled. You can take your rightful place as Shiratorizawa’s queen. If you so desire.”

Kiyoko tilts her head, her gaze sliding past Suga’s face to the courtyard behind him.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get rid of you or anything,” Suga says quickly. “I know I haven’t been the best husband, but I—”

Kiyoko holds up her hand, cutting him off. “I’m well aware of our situation, Koushi. I didn’t marry you because I loved you. I have grown to care for you, and I know your feelings for me are real, but we both know this was never what either of us wanted.”

Suga takes her hand, holding it firmly. “You can take Hitoka with you. Yuu and Ryuunosuke as well.”

“You can keep those two,” Kiyoko says, almost immediately.

Suga can’t help but laugh. “Any of my other men, then.”

Kiyoko looks thoughtful. “I’ll ask Kei and Tadashi if they’d like to join me. I know they have a soft spot for Hitoka. They would guard her faithfully.”

Suga nods. “Indeed.”

Her gaze returns to his, and her expression softens. “You have been an excellent husband,” she assures him, reaching to lay her warm palm against his cheek. “And an excellent king.”

Suga isn’t sure about that, but he takes her hand, moving it from his face to hold it with a firm squeeze. Kiyoko takes his other hand, holding them both together between hers.

“Your hands are cold,” she murmurs, before glancing up at his face. “What’s wrong?”

Suga sighs, leaning his forehead against hers. “I haven’t been able to see the future since I came back,” he admits. “I don’t know what happened but . . . having to make decisions without knowing the outcome . . . it’s terrifying.”

Kiyoko smiles faintly. “Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

Suga grins back half-heartedly. “How do you live like this?”

“We take it one day at a time.” She tilts her head back, kissing the edge of his mouth lightly.

Suga slips his hands away from hers in order to wrap his arms around her instead, pulling her into a close hug. “You’ve become a very good friend to me,” he says. “A companion. A confidant. I don’t regret marrying you, at all. I hope you know that.”

“I do.” Kiyoko rests her hands on his back lightly. “I, too, have no regrets.”

She pulls away first, setting her hands on his shoulders. She smiles, and Suga feels warm at the sight of it. He bends forward to kiss her cheek, and she turns toward the room. Placing her hand on the wood paneling of the entryway, she pauses, turning back to look at him.

“I think . . . Daichi will make a good king,” she says.

Suga’s blush deepens, as he pictures Daichi standing beside him in the throne room, wearing the royal colors on his kimono, a gold circlet around his head. He’d make an excellent king. An even better one than Suga believed he himself was. He watches Kiyoko leave, and as she does, Daichi steps into the room. He looks as though he’s just come from the bath, with his short hair still damp against the sides of his face. He bows to Kiyoko as she passes, and then bows to Suga, even though he keeps _telling_ him he doesn’t have to do that.

“Kageyama and Hinata have both fallen back into their studies with vigor. I think they’re still hyped up after everything that’s happened.” Daichi moves to stand beside Suga on the balcony, grinning faintly. “It’s going to be difficult to choose which one should be the official Guardian when it’s all said and done. They both show a lot of potential.”

Suga hums, taking Daichi by the shoulder and turning him to face him. There’s still a slight bump on his head where Ushijima knocked him unconscious, and he knows that the scar from Iwaizumi’s blade still marks his back, Suga having been too weak after bringing Oikawa back to heal it completely.

“You might need to make that decision sooner than you think,” he says, moving his hand down to take Daichi’s, lacing his fingers through his.

Daichi looks at him quizzically, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Suga turns to look off at the city. The sun has risen now, and the streets of Karasuno are starting to fill with early morning shoppers. The courtyard below has several gardeners working on the topiaries and rose bushes, others wiping down the fountains and cleaning the water inside them.

“Kiyoko is going to rule over what’s left of Shiratorizawa. She is the rightful heir to that throne, and she’s willing to take the responsibility. She’ll be taking Hitoka, Kei, and Tadashi with her.”

He can feel Daichi staring at him from out of the corner of his eye. He grins faintly, squeezing his eyes shut, as he leans his head back toward Daichi. “That little love triangle will be her problem now.”

Daichi blinks at him, not amused at his joke. “The queen is leaving you?”

“She belongs with her people.” Suga bites his lip, looking back down into the courtyard. “She seems to think _you’d_ make a good king,” he adds, glancing sidelong at Daichi. He sees the way he stiffens in surprise, feels the sudden tightening of his grip around his hand.

Suga turns toward him, pulling him closer by his hand. “What do you say?” he asks, smirking faintly to cover up his nerves. His hands are freezing, he can tell by how warm Daichi suddenly feels. Or maybe that’s just because his face is starting to turn red. “You up for marrying me? Making this thing official?”

Daichi laughs abruptly; air whooshing out of him and blowing Suga’s hair back slightly. “That’s how you’re proposing?” he asks, grinning despite the obvious sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Suga tilts his head. “Do you want me to go down on one knee and declare my undying love to you?” he asks, sinking to kneel before Daichi.

The Guardian’s eyes widen, his lips parting slightly.

“I mean it, Daichi,” Suga says earnestly. “I want you to rule at my side, the way you were always supposed to. This is what I’ve wanted since we were children. Us. Together. Kings of Karasuno.”

“M-my king . . .” Daichi wets his lips with his tongue, his hand shaking, even as Suga holds it tightly.

Suga shakes his head quickly. “No. Not anymore. Koushi. It’ll only ever be Koushi from now on.”

Daichi stares down at him, giving his hand a tug then to pull him to his feet. Taking the side of his face in his hand, he leans forward, capturing Suga’s lips with his. Suga reaches for his face as well, returning the kiss deeply. As bitter as it is to let Kiyoko go, he wonders if he can truly have this, now. It was something he feared he’d never be able to have. He thought his love for Daichi was doomed to remain a secret to the world. But now . . . now he can have him. They can be free, together.

“I love you,” Daichi says quietly, pressing his forehead against Suga’s.

“Is that a yes?” Suga asks, unable to help but grin.

Daichi grins back. “Of course it is,” he says, and moves to kiss him once more. His aura glows, bright and happy, and Suga’s swells to meet it. They join together, encasing the two fae in a golden sphere, swirling with color. And those below in the courtyard shield their eyes from the light, as it shines like a second sun.

 

 

 

***

 

 

The world seems different, and yet somehow the same. When Akaashi stepped through the portal back into Japan, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but his house, though somewhat overgrown with weeds, looked exactly the same. It felt strange, stepping through his front door, seeing a faint layer of dust on everything yet all his belongings in the exact same place they were when he left. Time had passed, in the six months he spent in the faerie realm a year went by in Japan. Disorienting, to be sure, but he immediately set to work cleaning his house, not knowing what else to do. Afterwards, he spent the rest of the day reading the news.

He procrastinated calling his parents for three days. Somehow, as time passed and he fell back into his regular routines, the faerie realm and all that happened there felt like a dream. He even started wearing his gloves again, just to be sure.

But then on the third day Koutarou appeared in his scrying glass, and Akaashi realized that everything that happened was real.

Now he’s on a train to Tokyo, watching the people on board with him. They’re oblivious, normal. Though, he’s normal now too, isn’t he?

He looks down at his hands, uncovered. Before he left he went into his backyard and found a toad. He had to be one hundred percent certain that he was different, even if everything around him remained the same.

Closing his eyes, Akaashi remembers the way the toad felt in his hands. Lumpy, dry . . . he could feel its tiny heart beating rapidly against his fingers. At the time he had stared at it in wonder.

His curse is truly gone.

That fact doesn’t cure his anxiety, however.

The train makes its stop at the station nearest his parents’ home, and his hands tremble as he steps onto the platform. He places them in his pockets, walking unhurriedly, as his heart pounds against his ribcage. He’s gone over and over in his mind what he wants to say, and how he wants to say it, has rehearsed it until the speech is memorized. But when he comes upon the right house, with its neatly trimmed grass in the front yard and the cleanly swept wooden porch, he forgets them completely.

In front of the house, kneeling in the grass with a wriggling puppy, is a small girl. She can’t be more than five or six years old, and she has dark hair, with soft curls that frame her round cheeks. As he steps closer, she looks up, and Akaashi stops walking abruptly, as he stares. Dark green eyes stare back at him. There’s no fear in them, only curiosity. Slowly, carefully, Akaashi kneels in the grass across from her, the puppy acting as a barrier between them. It rolls onto its feet, sniffing Akaashi’s knees and his hand, as he holds out his fingers, scratching the pup lightly beneath the chin.

“Hello,” he says softly.

“Hi,” the girl replies shyly, her gaze roaming over his features.

“What’s your name?”

The girl puts her finger in her mouth. “Kiyomi,” she says around it.

Akaashi can’t help but smile faintly, even as his heart lodges itself in his throat. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Keiji.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kiyomi parrots, pulling her finger out of her mouth. “You look like my brother.” She reaches out to grab the puppy, pulling the squirming ball into her lap.

Akaashi blinks. “Your brother?”

Kiyomi nods. “Mommy keeps a picture in her purse. I saw it. He looked like me so I know he’s my brother.”

Akaashi swallows hard past the lump in his throat. His mother has kept a photo of him all this time?

“Did she tell you about him?”

Kiyomi shakes her head.

“Keiji?”

Akaashi lifts his head at the sound of the familiar voice. The woman standing on the porch looks just as he remembered, if older and perhaps more fragile. He stands, walking past Kiyomi to approach the woman. Her expression is difficult to read, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears, as anxiety twists his stomach into knots. He comes to a stop directly in front of her, though he doesn’t climb the porch steps. They’re eye to eye this way, and she looks him over slowly.

“You’ve grown so tall,” his mother says quietly.

 _Yes, that’s what happens when you refuse to see your son for years._ Akaashi bites his lip, not wanting to say anything to upset her. This isn’t about the past. It’s about the future. His future. He wants his family. He wants to know his little sister.

Kiyomi walks up the steps, the puppy dangling in her hands. She leans against her mother’s hip, looking up at Akaashi with wide eyes.

“Mommy? You know him?”

Akaashi watches, his chest tightening, as his mother wraps her arm around Kiyomi’s shoulders. She doesn’t take her eyes off him at first, but after a moment she turns to her daughter.

“Kiyomi, this is your brother . . . Keiji.”

Kiyomi’s eyes widen further. “Big brother?”

At her mother’s nod, Kiyomi sets down the puppy before throwing her arms around Akaashi’s waist. Akaashi stiffens, and his mother inhales sharply, fear bleeding into her expression. But after a moment, Akaashi gently sets his bare hand on the back of his little sister’s head, and nothing happens.

“Keiji . . .” his mother covers her mouth with her hands, stunned. He doesn’t know why she’s so surprised. He told her over the phone that the curse was broken. He supposes she had to see it for herself to believe it, just as he had.

Kiyomi tilts her head back to look up at him. “Are you going to live with us?”

Akaashi looks to his mother, watches as her eyes fill with tears. “If I’m wanted,” he admits.

His mother studies him for a moment before holding out her hand to him. He takes it without hesitation, ignoring her initial flinch, and holds it tightly.

“Come inside,” she says then. “I’ll make us some tea and you can tell me how you broke the curse.”

“It’s a long story,” Akaashi cautions her.

She smiles then, a true smile, and it makes her look years younger. He sees the woman he knew as his mother, in the days before he turned thirteen. The woman who held him when he had nightmares, who fed him and bathed him and never once looked at him with fear. That’s the woman he remembers, and the knots in his stomach loosen, as relief flows through him.

“We have time,” she says, taking Kiyomi’s hand with her free one.

Turning, she leads them both into the house, the puppy falling over itself in its rush to follow. As he follows her toward the kitchen, Akaashi considers what he’ll tell her. His speech is unnecessary now. All he has left is his story.

_Where should I begin? With my research? With Kenma?_

No, he realizes, there’s a very specific moment when his life turned around for the better, when he started to hope again.

“It started when a young man named Bokuto put a letter in my mailbox . . .”

 

 

 

***

 

 

Waking up to silence feels foreign. Kuroo can’t remember a time when he didn’t have the whisper in his head. He hates to admit it, but he kind of misses the snarky guy. He was annoying as shit, to be sure, but it was nice to have some company when he was alone.

Kuroo rubs the sleep from his eyes, turning in bed and coming nose to nose with Kenma, whose eyes are already open, watching him.

_That’s right. I’m not alone anymore._

He can’t help the dopey smile that curves his lips. “’Morning, beautiful,” he says, reaching up to brush some of Kenma’s hair behind his ear.

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “Your breath stinks,” he says.

Kuroo can’t help but laugh. “Yours isn’t much better,” he says, smirking as he leans forward to kiss him lightly.

Kenma kisses him back briefly before pulling away. Kuroo bites his lip, trying not to be disappointed. He watches as Kenma rolls over to grab his phone from the nightstand, going through his notifications. Over his shoulder, Kuroo can see multiple ones from Haiba.

“Shit, what time is it?”

Grabbing his own phone, Kuroo squints at the bright screen. “Kenma! We’re late! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He rolls out of bed, scrambling to change, even as Kenma snuggles deeper under the covers. Shaking his head, Kuroo steps over and takes his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Hey, come on, it’s our first day of work at your grandma’s shop. We’re already late.”

“She knows I’m not a morning person.”

“I want to make a good impression.”

“Why? You’re not a demon anymore.”

Kuroo frowns. “Because I’m dating her grandson, and I want her to like me?”

Kenma glances sidelong at him, his fingers still tapping on the screen of his phone. “We’re dating?”

Kuroo’s chest tightens, as his heart suddenly plummets to his stomach. “Aren’t we?”

Kenma grimaces, frowning then as he puts down his phone and sits up. “The demon . . . it’s still possessing me,” he says, looking down at his hands, as he picks at the edges of his nails.

Kuroo blinks down at him, not having realized that. He just assumed Kenma would get rid of it as soon as he could. It feels strange to know that the voice that talked to him every day is now talking to someone else where he can’t hear. It kind of makes him uncomfortable, the more he thinks of it. What is it saying to Kenma? What is it telling him about Kuroo’s past? He knows Kenma knows a lot of what he did while possessed, but he doesn’t know everything.

“Why haven’t you gotten rid of it?” Kuroo asks, moving to sit across from him, pulling one leg up in order to face him. “If you’re worried about killing it, it should just go back to Hell, not actually, you know, die.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “I’m not worried about that. I just . . . if it goes, it’ll take the magic used to fuse Kenta’s soul to mine too . . . and I don’t know what will happen to the part of me that’s Kenta if that happens.” He bites his lip, still not looking at Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo reaches for his hand, curling his fingers around it. He has to admit to himself that the thought of Kenta’s soul being gone forever hurts, but looking at Kenma now . . . he doesn’t want Kenma to constantly be plagued by doubt over whether or not Kuroo truly loves him, or just the Kenta that’s inside him.

“I’m not going to leave you,” he says earnestly, tilting his head to try and catch Kenma’s gaze. “Even if there’s not a single part of you that’s Kenta, I’ll still love you. I don’t love you because you have part of Kenta’s soul, Kenma. I love you because you’re you.”

Kenma finally looks at him. “I might not be magical anymore.”

“I don’t care.”

“I won’t have his memories.”

“Does that bother you?”

Kenma turns his face away and doesn’t answer.

“Kenma . . . we can make new memories. And they’ll be better.” Kuroo reaches for his cheek, turning his head gently back toward him. Kenma’s eyes skitter to the side. “Kenma, look at me.” It takes a moment, but finally Kenma pulls his gaze up to meet Kuroo’s. Kuroo gives him a small smile. “I love you. Whether you keep the demon or you don’t . . . that won’t change.”

“You want me to get rid of it, though.”

Kuroo grimaces, letting his hand fall away. “I’m not . . . crazy about it being in your head, no. It knows . . . everything about me. There’s stuff I did, stuff you don’t know about . . .”

Kenma watches him impassively, and Kuroo hates when he gets like this because he can never tell what he’s thinking or feeling. Anxiety grips his stomach, and he gives Kenma’s hand a squeeze. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but it’s not . . . I did really awful things while it possessed me.”

“It wasn’t you.” Kenma’s frowning now. “I’ve _told_ you that.”

Kuroo chews on his lip. “I-I know it wasn’t really me, but it still . . . I still . . .”

Kenma takes his face in both hands, pulling him close to kiss him deeply. Kuroo doesn’t want to think about what the whisper might be saying to Kenma right then, as he wraps his arm around Kenma’s waist and pulls him closer. Their breaths are still stale, but the kiss is warm, comforting. When Kenma leans back, he keeps Kuroo’s face between his hands, looking at him seriously.

“I’ll get rid of it.”

Kuroo nods, too overwhelmed to speak. It’s only been a few days since that night they bonded auras, but he still can’t quite believe he has a second chance at life. At love.

He’s going to do better this time.

Kenma releases him, getting off the bed swiftly. “We gotta go. You made us late.”

Kuroo laughs, incredulous. “ _I_ made us late? Who’s the one that let me oversleep?!”

Kenma simply ducks into the bathroom, as a rapid knock on the front door sounds. Kuroo exits the bedroom, crossing the apartment. Although Kenma’s parents are still on their trip (or maybe it’s another trip, Kuroo doesn’t exactly know where they are and wonders if he should be concerned), Kenma’s been staying with him at his apartment. The only people who know where to find them are Koutarou, Yaku, and Haiba.

It’s Haiba and Yaku standing at the door, Haiba wearing a giant grin much too bright for it being this early.

“Morning, Kuroo!”

“We were waiting outside for you. What’s taking so long?” Yaku asks, crossing his arms.

Kuroo leans in the doorway, smirking down at Yaku. “I had a _hard_ business matter to take care of, if you know what I mean.” He winks, amused by Yaku’s scowl and Haiba’s oblivious grin.

“I wish I didn’t.”

“Hi,” Kenma says, walking past all of them to step into the hall and head for the stairs.

“Kenma!” Haiba cries, hurrying after him. “Wait for me!”

Kenma ignores him, if anything he walks faster, and Kuroo can’t help but grin, as he locks the door and follows, Yaku at his side.

“Thanks again for getting me this job,” Kuroo offers after a moment of brief silence.

Yaku shrugs. “Kenma told me everything that happened. I figured it’d be good for you to stay close.”

“Careful, Yaku, it almost sounds like you care about me.”

Yaku scowls. “I care about Kenma.”

Kuroo slides his hands into his pockets. “Sure, sure.”

He looks ahead to where Haiba has caught up to Kenma and is now talking animatedly to him, even though Kenma hasn’t lifted his head once since he arrived at his side.

“I’m going to be better,” Kuroo says suddenly, not sure if he’s assuring Yaku or himself.

Yaku glances up at him.

“I mean it,” Kuroo says, looking down at him. “I’m going to make him happy.”

“He’s already happy,” Yaku says, facing forward again. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Kuroo’s surprised, but before he can ask how Yaku can know that for sure, he’s walked on ahead to join the other two. Not about to be left behind, Kuroo lengthens his stride to catch up.

Together, the four of them walk into The Black Cat, as the sun rises higher in the sky, and Sendai prepares itself for the day. Haiba and Yaku immediately start bickering over the shop opening procedures, Yaku insisting he can do it himself but Haiba following him anyway “just in case you need to reach something high up.” Kenma takes his place behind the front counter and pulls out his phone, as Kuroo watches him, unable to keep the fond smile off his face.

It may not be exciting, or an adventurous, but working with Kenma at his grandmother’s shop, going home together every night, and all the small domestic scenes in between sounds perfect to Kuroo.

He’s ready to settle down, and though he knows the memories of his time with Kenta will always stick with him, he’s eager to start this new life with Kenma.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, waiting until Kenma looks up from his phone to continue. “I love you.”

Kenma flushes pink, immediately ducking his head. “Shut up.”

Feeling warm and happy, Kuroo turns to flip over the sign on the door.

A flash of something black and white across the street makes him pause, but when he focuses on the spot he sees nothing out of the ordinary, just a woman on her phone waiting for a bus. Rubbing away the goosebumps on his arm, Kuroo dismisses the incident and turns back to the shop. He has a good first impression to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't able to fit everyone's POV in here like I wanted, but rest assured Iwaizumi and Oikawa are happily cohabiting in a treehouse just outside the Karasuno border (protected by the Yamamotos), and Bokuto is rapidly learning new magic and honing his abilities (while still keeping in contact with Akaashi, Kuroo, and Kenma).
> 
> Stay tuned for the sequel: **Of Castles and Kings** (release date currently TBD but I'm very excited for it!)
> 
> There is some amazing art people have drawn for this fic, and you can find them [HERE](http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/tagged/omam-art)!
> 
> Thank you again for taking this journey with me! Feel free to hit me up any time at my tumblr (link below) or on twitter @shions_heart <3
> 
> Until next time, "see you in another life, eh brother?"
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


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